El Viejo
by ltjvt1026
Summary: Mike Franks, the Boss's Boss. 'Nuff Said. Chp.43 is up. R&R Pleeeease.
1. Beer and Memories

**Disclaimer: **Muse Watson and the gang from NCIS are not mine. I'm sure that somewhere in California there is a "Code Four Lounge". But this one is totally a product of my fevered brain. During my research I tried to be as accurate as possible about the 1/9. Any resemblance to a living or dead veteran is purely accidental.

**Author's Note: **When I researched this story, I found that the 1/9 was not in Vietnam in '72. At least not that I could find. So I tweaked the dates. Muse Watson's hometown is Alexandria, Louisiana and he was born in 1948 so he tracks pretty close to Mike Franks.

**Spoilers: **"Silent Night", "Hiatus 2" I think. It's the Gibbs flashback where Mike mentions being chased by Charlie (VC). It's the reason I wrote this fic. Anything in _Italics _is from the show.

**Dedication: **This entire story (no matter how long or short it may be) is humbly and respectfully dedicated to veterans regardless of branch or when or where you served. This specific chapter is dedicated to those Marines and Sailors who served in the First Battalion, Ninth Marines in Vietnam. Their record speaks for itself. Anything I could say would be superfluous. As Gibbs would say, "**SEMPER FI!"**

**MCRT Bullpen, December 23, 2008**

The team is brainstorming and trying to get a handle on Ned Quinn. Special Agent Tim McGee is reeling off Quinn's bio while Tony and Ziva are looking at the plasma.

**McGee:** "…_Enlisted in the Navy. Became a Corpsman instead. Attached to the First Battalion, Ninth Marines."_

**Gibbs (walking up): **_"The Walking Dead"_

**The Code Four Lounge, Oceanside, CA 1992**

The Code Four Lounge is a cop bar. A place to unwind after a tough tour. It was owned and run by a retired Oceanside PD Captain. It had a U-shaped bar, booths along three of the four walls and tables scattered throughout. Police memorabilia took up much of the wall space.

Two NIS agents were at a table towards the back of the bar. The older one was drinking beer from the bottle. The younger, drinking dark amber liquor neat from a glass.

Mike Franks, the older agent was attempting to get his younger colleague drunk. The case they had just wrapped up had involved a young boy. These cases always hit Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs hard. Hence the drunk getting. "The only problem" Franks thought "is this kid can hold his liquor."

Even though it was Wednesday the Code Four was in full swing. It was getting harder to get refills from the waitress.

There were several groups drinking at the bar: there were the Patrol cops, distinguished by their Polo shirts, short hair, neatly trimmed mustaches and workout toughened bodies, then there were the Detectives, longer hair, suits, less muscle. Finally there were the MP's and NIS agents from Camp Pendleton, a cross between the two.

Shuttling between them all were the "blue groupies". Young ladies of all descriptions, looking to rub up against a cop for the evening or maybe longer.

Franks was finally able to get the attention of a waitress. "Darlin', I'll have another beer and get my youngster here another one of those Jack Daniels' he's been drinkin'".

"It won't work Boss, I'm not getting' drunk." Mike lit a cigarette. "Well Probie, ya don't mind if I do, do ya?" " 'Course not Boss." Gibbs knew that Franks was just trying to get his mind off young Billy Sanders.

To play along, Gibbs asked a totally out of left field question. "Say Boss, the other day you said Charlie was chasin' you thru rice paddies. What unit were you in when you were in Vietnam?"

Mike Franks usually unreadable expression flickered. "Where the hell did _that _come from Jethro?" "Well you know what units I served in. Just askin'" Gibbs said innocently. Franks chuckled and blew a smoke ring. "1st Battalion, 9th Marines." Gibbs' eyes widened slightly. "The Walking Dead". "Very good Probie, I see that Knowledge is still being stressed at the Parris Island School for Boys."

The 1/9 was legendary in the Corps. During the Vietnam War it endured the longest sustained combat and suffered the highest Killed In Action(KIA) rate in Marine Corps history. Its members were awarded a total of 87 Silver Stars, 18 Navy Crosses and 2 Medals of Honor.

"It was one helluva fine outfit." said Mike. His mind drifted back….

**Quang Tri Province, RVN 1969**

Staff Sergeant Mike Franks USMC was lying in his rack smoking his first cigarette of the day. Since his unit, Bravo Co. 1/9 came out of the boonies yesterday, today the men could "sleep in". Normal reveille didn't apply. The only cloud on Mike's horizon was he had to see his CO at 0800.

"My momma always said my big mouth would get me in trouble." thought Mike. While in the bush Franks had taken a brand new second john to task about how he had deployed the platoon.

There had been a lot of "See here, young Staff Sergeant's" and " With all due respect Lieutenant's". The bottom line was the El-Tee had complained to the Captain. So, Mike was in the shit...again.

Mike Franks had been living the good life back in the World. Going to LSU, drinking beer and chasing co-eds. That all changed in '67 when his best friend from high school, Davey Wayne was killed in Vietnam.

The entire town of Alexandria, Louisiana turned out for the funeral. Mike stayed drunk for three days. When he sobered up, he joined the Marines. His folks were less then pleased. Mike told them he would go back to school after his hitch was up. What he didn't tell them was he planned on staying in the Nam as long as it took for him to get even for Davey.

But now he had this thing with the cherry El-Tee. "Well, hell, what can they do? Ship my sorry ass to Vietnam?" Mike got up, showered, put on a clean set of utilities and went to breakfast.

Exactly at 0800 hrs, he was standing tall in front of his company commander. The session was short and to the point. Staff Sergeant Franks had screwed up. Rather than bust him in rank the captain had pulled some strings and gotten Mike transferred to Charlie Co. The only problem was Charlie was going back to the boonies at the edge of the Arizona Territory, day after tomorrow. "Don't mean nothin' Skipper, I don't mind". His captain stood up and extended his hand. "You're a fine combat Marine, Mike. Try and keep your mouth shut". Franks laughed, "Probably not going to happen sir, but I'll try".

The next day Mike checked into Charlie Co. The welcome from his new Skipper was cool but correct. Capt. Fred Collins was impressed by, but wary of his new platoon sergeant. "I see you've extended your tour once already Staff Sergeant. Got a death wish?" "No Sir, just some unfinished business with Charlie". "Well we're going out tomorrow. You'll get plenty of chances to finish your business. Third Platoon is short a platoon sergeant. You'll be under Lt. Kearns. He's new, but not a cherry. That's all". "Aye Aye Sir". Mike stiffened to attention, about faced and got out.

Third Platoon was a good bunch. Lt. Kearns was willing to listen and had some good ideas of his own.

The following day before the company moved out, Mike was approached by a Navy Corpsman. "Staff Sergeant we haven't met yet. My name is Ned Quinn…."

**The Code Four Lounge, Oceanside, CA 1992**

Mike Franks snapped back to the present when his Probie asked him if he was okay. "Sure, but I'm dry Probie. I do believe this is your round". As they waited for the next round to arrive, Mike reflected on how far he'd come since Vietnam. He had gone back to LSU. Got his degree in accounting of all things. But life behind a desk rapidly lost its appeal.

A friend from school had joined the FBI. He talked about the Bureau constantly. During one of the bull sessions, his buddy had complained about "those cowboys from NIS stealing a case from us".

Franks figured any agency that could piss off the FBI was one he wanted to work for. He joined NIS in '76. He hadn't had the chance to piss of the Feebies yet, but there was still time.

"Hey Boss it's getting late. I've got reports to finish tomorrow. I'm headin out". "Okay Probie, I think I'll stay a while and try to snag one of these pretty young things floating around here". Mike Franks ordered another beer and leaned back. The night was just starting.

**A/N: **A couple of people (and you know who you are) asked for a Mike Franks story. Here it is. Now it's your turn. Hit that green button and let me know how I did.


	2. Malfunctions

**Disclaimer: All hail DPB. He owns the universe we're all playing in. I own nothing except the new OC from this story, Bailey Coopersmith, forensic tech.**

**Author's Note: **I've had it pointed out to me, by people who've been around here a lot longer than me that most writers on FFN are female. So since this chapter is going to be sort of firearms-centric I thought a short primer on handguns would be appropriate. If your eyes just glazed over feel free to move on to the story. If not, here it is. Handguns come in two flavors: 1) the revolver, which has a cylinder that holds the rounds it fires (think Dirty Harry's gun). The cylinder rotates either clockwise for a Smith & Wesson or counter clockwise for a Colt (it matters, take my word). The revolver only holds five or six rounds. 2) the semi-auto pistol, like the one's our favorite NCIS agents carry. The semi-auto is fed from a magazine (clip), inserted in the bottom of the grip. It can hold anywhere from 9 to 15 rounds depending on the caliber. Revolvers seldom malfunction. Semi-autos can and do. Remember that point.

**NCIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton MCB, April 1992**

Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting at his desk doing paperwork. He could hear his boss cursing as he came down the corridor from the SAC's (Special Agent in Charge) office. From the colorfulness and lack of repetition, Gibbs guessed that Senior Special Agent Mike Franks had lost the argument.

"Goddamn paper pushers" growled Franks as he dropped into his desks' chair opposite Gibbs.

"Have to give up your wheelgun Boss?" asked Gibbs.

This inquiry set off another round of expletives from Franks, calling into serious question the parentage and antecedents of the SAC, the Assistant Director of Operations and the Director himself.

"I'll take that as a 'yes' " said Gibbs.

"You know Probie, I've been carrying my Colt Python since Vietnam" said Franks.

"Now, just like that" Mike snapped his fingers "I gotta switch to a semi-auto."

"Won't be so bad, Boss " said Gibbs

"Ya think, Probie?" said his Boss.

"If I'd been carrying a 1911 or some 9mm piece of crap, they'd of grandfathered me in and I wouldn't have to go thru this. Oh, my aching back" bemoaned Franks.

"When do you start retraining" asked Gibbs.

Mike looked at Gibbs balefully "Tomorrow, 0830 at the classroom on the pistol range."

Jethro tried to keep a straight face. However, a small smirk escaped. 'A couple of days on his own, man…'

"What the hell's so funny Gibbs? You don't think I'd let you run around loose terrorizing the poor Marines and dependants on the base do you?" asked Franks.

"You'll be taking the Tactical Shotgun Course, one range over. It's the same hours as my pistol course" continued Mike. "Make sure you're on time."

**NCIS Sedan, Oceanside Blvd, Oceanside, CA July 1992**

Mike Franks and Gibbs were on their way to try and collar two Marine NCO's. They suspected them of selling office equipment and supplies stolen from a distribution center on Camp Pendleton. Sergeants Hastings and Gruber, along with a third Marine, Cpl. Moran had been diverting stuff from the center for about six months.

Cpl Moran, a clerk in the main warehouse had attempted to cover their tracks by creating bogus orders from the various attached units at Pendleton. A surprise audit had revealed **the** scheme. Suspicion had almost immediately fell on Cpl. Moran.

Franks had let Gibbs handle the interrogation. The "box" at the field office was a converted storage room. It had just enough room for a small table and two chairs. No one way mirror and you had to use a portable cassette player/recorder to document the interview.

While Cpl. Moran was no criminal genius, Gibbs had shown a flare for interrogating. After about 45 minutes Moran gave up Hastings and Gruber. He also gave up the location of the stolen equipment and supplies.

Franks turned the sedan off Oceanside Blvd onto the street that Hermitage Storage was on. The buildings rear overlooked the Atcheson, Topeka & Santa Fe rail line. The front had an L shaped parking lot connected to the next building's.

As Mike pulled up near the entrance of the company, Hastings and Gruber were exiting.

"Show time, Probie, watch your ass" said Franks.

The two agents exited the car. Hastings and Gruber slowed.

"Watch it Gibbs, they're gonna rabbit" murmured Mike.

Sure enough the two Marines started to separate.

"**NCIS!!**" hollered Gibbs.

The chase was on. Hastings ran back into the warehouse. Gruber with Gibbs in pursuit headed toward the adjacent building.

"Ah, Shit" said Franks, running after Hastings.

**Hermitage Storage, Interior**

Mike Franks cautiously made his way thru the warehouse. His issue SIG was thrust out in front of him in a two handed grip.

Hastings was armed. He'd taken a shot at Mike as soon as they'd entered the warehouse from the front entrance.

Mike figured the bastard was up ahead on his right. Franks hated being shot at. There was a corner up ahead. Mike drifted towards a crate that would give him partial cover if Hastings popped around the corner.

From the corner a face appeared followed by a gunshot. The shot missed spraying Franks with wood fragments. Mike fired back, intending to send two rounds downrange.

Only one round fired. "Oh, SHIT"

The empty cartridge case stood up in the ejection port of the SIG. Franks took a knee preparing to clear the malfunction.

The voice of the instructor from 3 months ago came unbidden.

"The 'stovepipe' is a Type 4 malfunction, a failure to eject."

Time slowed. Mike fumbled with the SIG trying to clear his piece.

An older instructor's voice came, also unbidden.

"During extreme danger gross motor skills, like those needed to perform failure drills are the first to be affected due to the increase in adrenaline."

Franks smacked the bottom of the magazine and attempted to rack the slide. It. Wouldn't .Move.

"Tough luck, old man" said Hastings, moving from around the corner. Mike looked down the barrel of Hastings pistol.

"Always knew I wasn't gonna die in bed" thought Franks. "Didn't think it would be this soon."

Franks saw Hastings finger start to tighten. Mike dropped the SIG as the perp squeezed off the round. Instead of the roar he was expecting, Mike heard just a click.

Mike's hand darted to his left ankle. He came up with his backup, a .44 Special revolver, five shot.

All of which fired.

All of which hit Hastings in the center of mass. He was dead before he hit the ground.

"**GODDAMN**, I'm gettin' too old for this" said Mike.

Gibbs came skidding around the corner weapon pointing.

Mike was attempting to light a cigarette with no success.

"Nice of you to show up Probie. What kept ya…"

**Mike Franks Apartment, 7 hours later**

Surprisingly Mike Franks was still sober. It wasn't from lack of trying. He'd had at least half a dozen beers with Gibbs at the Code Four.

Then after Gibbs drove him home, he'd found a bottle of Irish whiskey that had been a long ago gift. He'd killed half of that. Probie had one drink and left.

"Maybe a little more Irish and I'll feel it." thought Mike.

Before he'd left work, their forensic tech, Bailey Coopersmith had shown up at the office for a little show & tell. She brought the round from Hastings pistol. The primer had been dimpled by the firing pin.

A failure to fire malfunction.

Bailey joked that Franks should go out and get a lottery ticket. Maybe he would. Later.

As Mike was reaching for the bottle of Irish, the door to his apartment opened. Elena walked in.

"Querido, why are you sitting in the dark?" She saw the whiskey bottle.

"Did you have a bad day at work?"

Mike got up, walked over and wrapped his arms around her.

"You have no idea…" he sighed

**A/N:** OK ya'll, that's Chapter two. There's more to come but only if I get some reviews. So answer up.


	3. Remembrance and Responsibility

**Disclaimer: I Do Not own NCIS, nor am I making a profit from what I'm doing in DPB's sandbox. If I was making a profit my name would be Thom E. Gemcity and I'd be world famous.**

**Authors Note: **When I started "El Viejo" I was going to _try_ and stay back in the day with Mike and Gibbs. Didn't work. USA Network (damn them) showed "Faking It" the other day. You know me, can't resist a tag. Sooo, this is my take on where Mike went after he walked away from Gibbs in front of the El Ejecutivo Hotel…. The bit of business between Gibbs and Mike is from the show. The quote from Gunny Hartman is from Full Metal Jacket.

**Spoilers: **"Faking It" Season 4 Episode 4

"To live in hearts we leave behind, Is not to die."-** Thomas Campbell**

"_Marines die, that's what we're here for. But the Marine Corps lives forever. And that means __**YOU**__ live forever."_- **Gunnery Sergeant Hartman, Full Metal Jacket**

**In Front of the El Ejecutivo Hotel, Late Afternoon**

Mike Franks was walking away from the hotel when Gibbs' voice stopped him.

"_Hey, you got that audio tape?"_

Franks turned back and handed over the tape.

"_Beer's gettin' warm."_

Mike pivoted back the way he'd been going and moved off smartly. The tape had been the object of the last half of the case.

Franks hoped Gibbs wouldn't be too disappointed when the "evidence" on the tape turned out to be mariachi music. Evidence that was supposed to be used against Arkady Kobach's arms dealing.

That was the bad news. The good news was, that at this very moment Arkady Kobach was rapidly assuming room temperature courtesy of two rounds from Mike's .45

Kobach's right hand man, Nikolai Puchenko was sitting in an NCIS holding cell for killing former Petty Officer Jack T. Vale. Vale had been part of Mike's original investigation of Kobach fifteen years ago.

"_Not a bad day's work."_ thought Mike _"Now I've got to get clear before the shit hits the fan."_

Once word of Kobach's death got out, people were going to be upset.

Chiefly, Roy Carver, currently Homeland Security, formerly CIA. Carver had been Kobach's case agent. Probably still was.

Roy Carver had been a thorn in Mike's side fifteen years ago. He almost had been again, but Franks had outmaneuvered him.

By implying he had evidence that could nail Kobach, Mike had gotten himself placed in protective custody. He then "kidnapped" himself. In the process he had had to knock out Tony DiNozzo. Mike felt bad about that.

The "kidnapping" had set in motion the events that culminated with Mike now walking away from the El Ejecutivo with a "cat that ate the canary" grin on his face.

**Several hours later, The Vietnam Veterans Memorial**

Mike Franks walked along the Memorial. Destination, Panel 14 East. The eastern arm of the Memorial pointed towards the Washington Monument. The western arm towards the Lincoln Memorial.

There was the usual amount of tourists today. Also there were a lot of guys and gals like Mike, eyes searching, looking for the names of friends long gone.

As he reached Panel 14E the memories came flooding back like a slide show.

_Twelve year olds, Mike Franks and Davey Wayne fishing in one of the many bayous around Alexandria, LA…during school hours._

_Mike's dad giving the 12 year old a choice, a grounding (which means no Davey) or a whipping for the fishing stunt. Mike takes the whipping._

_High School. State baseball championships. Davey and Mike executing a double steal in the bottom of the ninth with one out. Steal successful. Man at the plate smacks a single scoring both Davey and Mike, winning the game and the championship._

_After High School. Davey fresh out of jump school. Paratrooper boots, jump wings and Screaming Eagle patch. Ready to ship out. Hand shake, Ah Hell, hug. "Watch your ass, Davey."_

_Funeral. Flag draped closed casket, with Davey's jump school graduation picture. Closed casket, because the booby trapped dud 105mm round hadn't left much of Davey, his El-Tee and the radioman._

Mike shook off the memories and moved closer to the Wall. Yup, there it was. **DAVID WAYNE.** Every time he came, he hoped it wouldn't be there, but it always was.

He ran his fingers along the name. Closed his eyes. Took a deep breath and walked away. He had one more stop to make.

**Early Evening, Charlie's Bar, Two blocks from the Navy Yard**

As he pushed through the door of the bar, Mike hoped he could cross this last item off his to do list.

He was in luck. At the bar, nursing what looked like a scotch and water was Special Agent Tony DiNozzo.

"How's the head, DiNozzo." growled Mike.

His reverie broken, Tony's head snapped around.

"Hey, Mike figured you'd be halfway to Mexico by now."

"Nah, I had some personal business to wrap up."

Mike motioned to the bartender.

"Let me have a Corona, with a slice of lime. Get my son here another of whatever that is he's drinkin'."

Tony laughed at the "son" reference.

"Ya know they're kind of pissed at you back there, Mike."

DiNozzo pointed with his thumb back towards the Yard.

"By 'them' do you mean that lady Director of yours, DiNozzo?"

"Well yeah…"

"She'll get over it."

As the drinks came, Mike went to light a cigarette. He stopped when the bartender gave him the "fish eye".

"_Goddam, el Norte,"_ thought Mike _"can't even smoke and drink anymore."_

Finishing his beer, Mike stood and clapped Tony on the shoulder.

"Didn't mean to hit you so hard, Tony. Must be losin' my touch."

"Was that an apology, Mike?"

Franks glared at the younger man.

"Did you hear the word 'Sorry' anywhere in there, DiNozzo?"

"Ah…No"

Mike smiled and nodded.

"See ya around, hotshot."

Tony watched the older man swagger out of Charlie's, on his way to Mexico.

**A/N: **There are 58,261 names on the Wall. There was only one Wayne. He was an Air Force Colonel who died as a result of noncombat injury. He in no way resembles my character. No disrespect is intended or implied.


	4. No Absolution

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to someone else, not to me. If it belonged to me Ari would have died in Autopsy. Kate would still be alive and so would Jenny. Unfortunately Ziva would be off somewhere else killing Tangos for Mossad. Sorry TIVA fans.**

**Authors Note: **When I started this story, it was supposed to be Mike Franks' view of "Judgment Day". It kind of got away from me. Besides, Mike's view is pretty clear in the episode. I hope that the Mike fans out there won't be disappointed.

**Spoilers: "Judgment Day", of course. Also " Iceman".**

**The beach, Baja Mexico**

Mike Franks was feeling good. The sun was warm and there was cold beer in the cooler. In front of him, his 21 month old granddaughter was trying to build a sandcastle on the Baja beach. She was using an old plastic cup, with limited success. The sand was too dry.

Mike got out of his beach chair and squatted next to her.

"Hope, honey, you need to go get some water and bring it back here."

"Okay, Poppy."

The little girl tottered off toward the water with the cup. She was closely followed by her mother. Amaya Ayoob-O'Neill has come a long way since coming to Mexico. At first she would only go out dressed head to toe with just her eyes showing. Now she was wearing a one piece bathing suit and a "Corona" sun visor.

Using a mixture of English and newfound Arabic, Mike had convinced Amaya to have Aasia (Hope) baptized a Catholic. This way if anything happened to her or Mike or both, Hope's godparents could step in.

Hope's godmother was Camilla Charro. Hope's godfather was none other than Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Thinking of Gibbs brought the events of last week rushing back.

"_I haven't had a week that bloody since 'Nam."_ thought Mike.

The body count stood at eight. Retired NCIS Special Agent William Decker, his girlfriend Sasha Gordon, Russian mobster Viggo Drantyev, the three mutts from the diner, former KGB agent Svetlana Chernitskaya and NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard.

There might have been nine, if Mike had gone back to Mexico rather than hopping a flight to Washington DC. Franks had recognized the number series for Decker's "insurance policy" as an old NIS case number. A visit to Archives at the Navy Yard had gotten Mike the file.

Franks had spotted Gibbs leaving the Yard in one tearing hurry. Trailing behind, Mike had seen the blond woman going into Jenny Shepard's townhouse. Probie had cut this one almost too fine. Or maybe not. Gibbs' weapon had been on the desk and Jethro had been by the liquor cabinet. Almost a little too far to make a grab. So, Mike had dropped Svetlana with one round from his .45.

With a body now conveniently available, the "NCIS Director killed in a gunfight" problem was solved with a four alarm fire and charred corpse.

Mike's reverie was broken by Hope's return.

"Water, Poppy"

"Okay, baby girl, now we mix up the sand and water. You'll be able to make the walls stick together now, see?"

The little girl smiled and threw her arms around Mike's neck, planting a wet sandy kiss on his cheek.

"Thank you, Poppy."

"My pleasure, princess."

Franks saw his granddaughters eyes widen in surprise.

"Uncle Gibbs!!"

Mike looked over his shoulder and sure enough, there stood his Probie, a sheepish grin on his face.

"Hi, Boss."

**Two hours later, Carlos' Cantina**

After returning to Mike's house, Gibbs did what any godfather would. He dumped out half a suitcase full of presents for Hope.

The two men then repaired to Carlos' Cantina, with Camilla's admonition to "come back reasonably sober" ringing in their ears.

Two rounds were consumed before a word was spoken.

"So, Probie, why are you here?"

"I hadda get out of DC, Mike."

On the way over to the cantina, Gibbs had brought Mike up to date on the changes to his team.

"If I didn't leave I probably would have done something stupid."

"Leon didn't kick about the two weeks?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Nah, HR is always complainin' about me not taking my time. He signed off, no problem. I think he was glad to get rid of me, actually."

"Yeah, you and Leon never did see eye to eye."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"I have my ways, Probie."

Although he'd been retired since '96, Mike was still well informed about the goings on at NCIS.

"What are you really doing here Jethro?"

A look of pain crossed Gibbs' face.

"I should have been there, Boss."

"That was the point, Gibbs, she didn't want you there. She was trying to protect you. To keep you safe from her mistake."

"But…"

"No buts. We've gone over this already, Probie. If it's absolution ya came down here for, I can't give it to ya."

"Now, I've got a question for you Jethro. Back in Jenny's townhouse, you wanted that blond to cap you didn't ya?"

"**Shit…**" said Gibbs, throwing money on the bar and walking out.

Back in the day Franks would have chased after his Probie to either physically or verbally beat some sense into him.

Not today.

"**JOSE**, un tequila y cerveza, por favor!"

Mike lit a cigarette and leaned back. A long walk would cool Jethro off. After all Mike had two weeks to work on him.

**The road to Cabo Suerte**

Gibbs walked blindly away from Carlos'. After about fifteen minutes he realized it was going to be a long walk back to Mike's place.

"_I'm a horse's ass."_

As he walked Gibbs thought about the last thing Mike said to him before he walked out. Did he really have a death wish?

Jethro wasn't the introspective type, but the thought wouldn't leave him. He went over those last few minutes before Mike killed Svetlana. The distance from where he was standing to his weapon was probably a _little_ long. But he could have made it. Maybe.

Gibbs head slapped himself. When he got back to Mike's, he was gonna have to hit the Jack and think about this a little more.

Gravel crunched behind him. When he turned there was a white sedan rolling up to him. Rental car. The car stopped next to him and the window rolled down.

"Perdon, Senor, como llego Cabo Suerte?"

"_Spanish with an Irish accent"_ thought Gibbs _"Interesting combo."_

He bent down and looked in the window.

Long red hair, sky blue eyes and freckles.

He felt the blood drain out of his face.

"_Karma's a bitch."_

"Sorry, don't speak Spanish."

"Are you alright, you look as if you've seen a ghost."

"No, I'm okay, it's just you remind me of someone I've lost recently."

"You're American."

"Yes, I am…?"

"Maeve, Maeve O'Connell."

"Jethro Gibbs, my friends call me Gibbs."

"So, I can call you…?"

"Gibbs, by all means. You trying to get to Cabo Suerte?"

"Yes, actually. I have friends who live there. I'm here on holiday."

Gibbs smiled.

"Well, you're in luck. I have a friend with a house on the beach there. Be glad to show you the way."

"I, ah….." Maeve hesitated.

Gibbs reached into his back pocket and came out with his ID wallet.

"I work for the US Navy."

"What's NCIS?"

"We investigate crimes involving the Navy and Marine Corps. I'm here on vacation too."

Maeve grinned at him.

"Hop in then. Why were you walking?"

As Gibbs slid into the front seat of the sedan, he said, "It's a long story…."

**A/N: **As I said, it kind of got away from me. But I still think it works. As usual I got some good advice from people I trust. I sorta followed it. Any complaints, hit the green button below and I'll try and do better the next time.


	5. DIY

**Disclaimer: They're somebody else's, not mine**

**Author's Note: **We're back in the day again.

**NCIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton, MCB Thursday 1530 hrs**

Senior Special Agent Mike Franks walked out of the SAC's office a happy man. Old Iron Ass had signed off on him and Gibbs having tomorrow off. This meant that instead of their vacation starting Friday afternoon it would start as soon as they got the hell out of Dodge.

"Probie, saddle up."

"Case, Boss?"

"No, Gibbs, vacation."

"The SAC signed off?"

"Yes he did. Let's di-di before he changes his mind."

When they got to the parking lot, Franks stopped by Gibbs' pickup. The bed was filled with 2x4's, plywood, and bundles of shingles.

"Did I give ya enough money to get everything you'll need, Probie?"

"Yes, Boss"

Mike and Jethro were going down to Baja. Mike had come into some money from an inheritance. One of Mike's uncles had died leaving him a tidy sum. In order to keep it away from his ex-wife's attorney, Mike bought a house on the beach at Cabo Suerte.

It allegedly needed "a little work" according to the real estate lady. Mike had "enlisted" Gibbs' help.

"_We'll fix her up, can't take more'n a couple of days, Probie. Then we'll drink and fish. Whatta ya say?"_

Of course Gibbs said yes.

But now they were leaving a day early. Mike saw the look on Gibbs' face.

"Problem, Gibbs?"

"Well, yeah Boss. I was supposed to take Ellie to dinner tomorrow."

"Hell, Probie take the lovely Nurse Ellie out to eat tonight. What's the problem?"

"She's working in the ER tonight."

"Oh..."

Gibbs had been seeing Elaine Foster since he had gotten dinged up chasing a perp, several months ago.

Mike grimaced. Since Gibbs had started seeing the nurse, he'd gotten more, _human_. Let his hair grow out some. He even smiled more. Mike hated to be responsible for screwing up Gibbs' deal.

"What time is she getting' off?"

"0030"

"Oh"

"Yeah, Boss 'Oh'."

Mike lit a cigarette and exhaled a ribbon of smoke from his nostrils.

"Well, we could leave Saturday like we planned."

Gibbs shook his head.

"Its okay, Boss. I'll make it work."

"'Kay, Probie. 0600 at my place then."

"Right, Boss."

**In front of Mike's apartment building, Friday 0600 hrs**

As Mike Franks exited his apartment building with his old sea bag over his shoulder, he noted Gibbs' pickup was already waiting. Jethro was leaning against the front fender drinking a large coffee.

"Morning Gibbs."

"Hey, Boss."

Mike threw his sea bag into the pickup's bed where it joined Jethro's. He looked Gibbs up and down.

"Well, I don't see any holes in ya. I guess that means things went okay last night."

Gibbs was deadpan.

"She wasn't happy."

"_Chinese food in the break room is not 'dinner out', Gibbs"_

Mike smiled.

"So, I guess you're still on the hook?"

"Oh yeah, Boss."

"_When you get back from this Do-It-Yourself safari that Franks talked you into, we're going someplace nice."_

Mike clapped Gibbs on the shoulder.

"Look on the bright side, Probie. At least you're not married to her. If you were, your shit would probably be on the front lawn when you got home. Let's go."

**Back deck, Mike's house, ten days later 2140 hrs**

Mike and Gibbs were sitting in two Adirondack style chairs Jethro had knocked together using scrap lumber. The "couple of days" had stretched into ten. The roof had needed a lot of work. Sheet rock had had to be replaced. The deck they were sitting on needed new planking. The front door frame and door had to be replaced. Luckily there was a mini real estate boom going on. The dollar was strong and obtaining materials hadn't been a problem.

Franks reached down into the cooler between the two men and brought forth two beers.

"Here ya go Probie. Job well done."

Gibbs took the bottle.

"Thanks, Boss. You did help a little."

"Jethro, I never could have done this all by myself."

Gibbs flushed with pleasure. The Boss rarely called him Jethro.

"What now?"

"Well Probie, tomorrow we fish and the day after that it's back to 'El Norte'"

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Christ, you're dense Gibbs. This way you'll have a couple of days to get back on the good side of the nice nursie. Gawd."

Gibbs gave a start. He'd been so busy the last ten days, he hadn't thought about Ellie at all.

Unbidden, her face framed by a mane of curly shoulder length brown hair came into his head.

"I'm gonna have to call her tomorrow Boss."

"Ya think, Probie. We can use the phone at Carlos' Cantina."

Mike reached down next to his chair and handed Gibbs a small box.

"Here, give her this, peace offer- like."

Jethro opened the box and the moonlight revealed a hammered silver bracelet of dolphin's nose to tail.

"Boss…."

"Hey, not a big deal, Probie. One of the guys in town makes 'em. I got it for a song."

"Thanks Boss."

"Can't have her killin' ya just when I've got ya broke in." said Mike gruffly.

"Sure, Boss."

"I'm gonna take the truck and go to Carlos'. Come along?"

"Nah, Boss. Think I'll stay here."

"Okay Gibbs. Don't wait up. I might get lucky."

Gibbs smiled as Mike walked inside to change. He fingered the bracelet. Two days should be plenty to get back on Ellie's good side.

**A/N: **Thanks are again due to my muse's assistant (you know who you are). The line about stuff winding up on the front lawn actually happened to a guy I worked with. His soon to be ex-wife (#3) didn't take kindly to a road trip he went on with us!


	6. Safari

**Disclaimer: They're not mine. They belong to DPB, Don McGill, et al. I just stumble around in the **

**sandbox trying to write a good story.**

**Spoilers: Hiatus 2, Shalom**

**Author's Note: **As much as I try to stay back in the day USA Network keeps dragging me back to the

present. I always wanted to know what happened in those first days when Gibbs

embarked on his "margarita safari". The dedication below was going to go to my two

favorite FFNers. Then I read the morning paper.

**Dedication: **For the 6th time since 9/11 the Medal of Honor will be awarded today. This chapter is

dedicated to SFC Jared Monti, USA, KIA 21 June 2006. Not once, but three times he

attempted to drag a wounded comrade to safety. On the third attempt he was killed by

an RPG. HOOAH, Sgt. Monti

**Mike Frank's house, Baja, Mexico 1330 hrs.**

Mike Franks was up to his elbows in the engine of his pickup. The damn thing had been acting up for days. Mike had tried everything else, so now he was replacing the sparkplugs. He was halfway done. If this didn't work, he didn't know what the hell he was gonna do. Franks cracked open a cold beer and started work again.

Up by the road he heard the sound of airbrakes. The local bus was dropping somebody off. Mike was not expecting company. The last time this had happened, a bunch of hippie types had come hooting and hollering down his drive expecting a pristine deserted beach. What they got was a hung over Franks awakened from his siesta. It hadn't been pretty.

Mike shaded his eyes as a lone figure wearing a ball cap and carrying a small duffel bag came into view. Franks recognized the gait immediately. A large grin split his face.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs, a small smile on his own face, walked up and dropped his bag.

"Is the beer cold, Boss?"

**Back deck, Mike's house, several hours later**

Mike and Gibbs had finished putting the sparkplugs in Mike's truck. It was now running as well as it ever had. They were sitting, watching the ocean and doing their best to kill a second case of beer. Not a word had been exchanged. Gibbs finally broke the silence.

"Aren't you gonna ask, Boss?"

"Figured you'd get to it in your own time."

Gibbs nodded.

"Remember how mad I was when you left the agency after Khobar Towers? How I said you quit, gave up? I understand now."

Mike arched an eyebrow.

"The bastards let Pin Pin Pula blow the Cape Fear, Boss! That son of a bitch Walsh says 'an accident at sea is better than an act of terrorism'. That's how they played it. An accident! Bastards!"

Mike handed his Probie another beer.

"What else Jethro?"

Gibbs took a long pull at his beer.

"You always could read me, Mike. It's Shannon and Kelly too. I know it's not, but it feels like it happened last month. I couldn't stay in DC."

Mike stood, finishing his beer.

"C'mon Probie let's go get something to eat."

**Mike's house, next day 1230 hrs**

Franks needed to make a phone call. One problem. No phone at his house. He told Gibbs he needed to make a grocery run. He wasn't lying. There wasn't a lot of food in the house. Nor was there a lot of coffee. So Mike headed for town to get what he needed and talk to who he needed to talk to.

At Carlos' Cantina, the bartender let him use the phone. Mike dialed the number from memory.

"Director Shepard's office. May I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to her, please."

"Whom shall I say is calling?"

"Mike Franks."

"One moment please."

"Good morning, Agent Franks."

"It's Mister, Madam Director. I have something down here that belongs to you."

"How is he?" The concern in her voice was obvious. Not the tone of a boss concerned about a valued employee either.

"Pissed and confused. Hurt too. I thought there were idiots runnin' the show when I was there. This really takes the cake though. Did he really put his papers in?"

"Yes he did."

"Did you file 'em?"

"No, I did not."

Mike chuckled, lighting a cigarette.

"How much time?"

"He has four months on the books."

Mike was silent for a minute.

"I think he might be back by then."

"Why is the case involving his wife and daughter still open?"

That one came out of left field. Mike frowned. He'd have to be careful with this woman.

"The dirt bag absconded to Mexico and disappeared. Far as I know the federales aren't lookin' too hard."

"You were the lead on that weren't you?"

"Yes." She knew damn well.

"What do you think happened?"

"Got me, Di-rec-tor. He just up and disappeared."

"Thank you Agent Franks. Stay in touch."

Mike put down the phone, ground out his cigarette and headed for the grocery store.

**Mike's bedroom, two months later 0715 hrs**

Light coming in thru the window woke Mike up. There was an arm across his chest and a warm body pressed against his side. Camilla.

Daylight? Shit. He told Gibbs they'd go fishing this morning. What the hell happened? Then last evening started coming back. They'd been in Carlos'. Camilla came in. They started drinking. Then a cute looking turista started hitting on Gibbs. Legs up to her shoulders and a nice set of lungs. Mary something.

Mike slid out of bed without waking Camilla. He put on a pair of shorts and a tee shirt. Getting home was a little hazy. Mike wondered where Gibbs may have wound up.

"_Guess I'll find out eventually."_

Mike left his bedroom and saw the door to Gibbs' room was open. He peeked in. The bed looked like World War III had been fought on it. Franks grinned.

" Ooo- Rah, Probie."

When Mike got to the kitchen, Gibbs was leaning on the counter, coffee cup in hand. Mary something wearing one of Gibbs' NCIS tee shirts and a pair of his shorts was at the table finishing breakfast. She gave him a sweet smile and a "Morning."

Gibbs also gave him a grin.

"I guess fishing is out, Boss?"

**Rear deck, Mike's house, a month and 20 some days later, 1350 hrs**

Mike watched Gibbs close the cell phone and rub his face with his free hand. Probie had been showing signs that he had healed up some. When he first got to Mike's he would take long walks on the beach. Not coming back for hours at a time. Mike knew he was coming to terms with his life all over again. Rebuilding the walls around the stuff that needed walling off.

This phone call from "a woman, she sounded _muy_ upset" was a good thing. Mike had been racking his brain, trying to find a way to get Gibbs to go back to DC.

Providence had intervened. From what he could hear, the Mossad super assassin, Ziva, had gotten herself in some kind of jam. Knowing his Probie, Gibbs would be riding off to the rescue.

Gibbs voice broke into his thoughts.

"Can I get a ride to the airport, Mike?"

"Sure, Probie."

An hour later as they pulled up to the terminal, Gibbs turned to Mike.

"Thanks for taking me in, Mike."

"Don't go gettin' all misty on me Jethro."

Gibbs laughed.

"OK, you old bastard, I won't."

"You watch yourself up there, Gibbs. You can always come back ya know."

"Oh, I'll be back. I've got a hot tub to build."

**A/N:** As always my muse's assistant provided sage advice. This time I even followed it!


	7. The Arizona

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to those other people, not to me.**

**Authors Note: elflordsmistress** wanted a Mike story from Vietnam. So I climbed into the "Way Back

Machine" and here it is. Hope ya like it elm.

**This chapter takes place just after "Beer and Memories". You don't **_**have **_**to read it before this story, but you could (cunning ploy).**

**Technical Notes: **I'm going to use some terms in this chapter that are going to need explaining-

**Arizona Territory-** An area southwest of DaNang, South Vietnam. It was

predominated by rice paddies, bamboo hedgerows and small

villages. A VC stronghold

**Liberty Bridge-** Spanned the Song Thu Bon River. The gateway to the Arizona 

**C-Rats- **Field rations in small cans

**RTO- **The guy that carried the platoon's comm. gear. Stands for Radio Telegraph

Operator

**C-4**- Plastic explosive. Comes in blocks of approximately a pound.

**M-14- **The rifle before the **M-16**. The M-14 had a wood stock and was longer and

heavier then the M-16. The M-14 also fired a bigger round then the M-16

**Klick- **Milspeak for a kilometer

**RVN- **Republic of VietNam

**NVA-** North Vietnamese Army. Regular troops with standard uniforms.

**VC- **Viet Cong. Guerillas in black pajamas.

**Mike Frank's house, Baja, Mexico, Present Day**

Mike Franks watched the squall coming from the Pacific Ocean. The line of rain showers was coming at a pretty good clip. Days like today always make his right thigh ache. As he stood up to go inside he kneaded the scar tissue through his shorts.

"_A little medicinal whiskey is indicated."_

He just made it in the back door when the squall hit. Mike poured himself some Jamison's and watched the rain…..

**Ten klicks NW of An Hoa Combat Base, RVN, 1969**

Staff Sergeant Mike Franks, USMC was waiting for "the word". His platoon commander, Lt. Harry Kearns had been called to the Company Command Post for a conference, fifteen minutes back.

Three days ago, Charlie Co, 1st Battalion, 9th Marines had walked across Liberty Bridge into the Arizona Territory. After a three day hump they were deep in the Arizona. It was weird. There had been no contact. No sniper fire, no probes at night, nothing. Just sullen looks from the villagers as they passed thru. The Arizona was hardcore VC. These guys weren't Charlie, they were Mr. Charles.

The company was stopped behind a six foot high rice paddy dike. There was a tree line about three hundred yards away. They had been stopped for about twenty minutes. Mike made a decision. He called for the platoon runner.

"Pass the word, squad leaders up."

In a few minutes, three faces were looking at him expectantly.

"Feed your people and get me an ammo count. Not sure how long we're gonna be here, but get 'em fed. Oh, yeah, the smoking lamp is lit."

As the squad leaders moved off, the platoon's RTO, L/Cpl Charles "Chip" Thomas said "Roger that" into his handset. He looked at Mike.

"The El-tee said to fed 'em. He also said he won't be back for another ten minutes or so."

Mike smiled faintly and started rummaging thru his NVA rucksack for something to eat. The enemy ruck was designed better and rode better then the US ruck. Mike pulled a GI sock containing small cans from his ruck. Meals, Combat, Individual. Better known as C-rats, or C rations. Keeping the cans in the sock kept them from rattling. He looked over his choices and put two aside. From deeper in his ruck he pulled out a blackened Campbell Soup type can with some holes punched in the sides.

"Hey, Chip, ya got any C-4?"

"Sure, Mike. How much ya need?"

"Gimme two chunks."

Chip broke off two pieces of C-4 about the size of his thumb. Mike took them and rolled them up into balls. He placed a ball of C-4 on the ground and the can over it.

While he was making these preparations, Lt. Harry Kearns walked up. Seeing the makeshift stove on the ground, he started looking for his lunch. As he pulled a can from his ruck he groaned.

"Ham and Motherf***ers again!"

The dreaded Ham and Lima Beans.

Mike laughed and tossed his platoon leader one of the two cans he'd set aside.

"Here Harry, try this."

"Thanks, Mike."

In the bush military courtesy was relaxed in deference to enemy snipers and the ability of the foe to get close enough to hear conversations.

"Hey, Spaghetti and Meatballs, my favorite!"

Mike smiled and opened his own can, Beef Slices w/Potatoes in Gravy. He got a small bottle of Tabasco sauce out of his ruck and shook a couple of drops in the can. As he stirred the contents he saw the others were ready to eat. Mike took a kitchen match out of its waterproof container and lit it. He shoved the match into one of the holes in the can "stove".

After a minute or so, the ball of C-4 started to burn. The explosive, if used with a blasting cap went "boom". When exposed to a flame it would just burn. Hot enough to warm up their food.

"After you, Harry."

The lieutenant warmed his food followed by Chip and Mike. While they were eating the squad leaders came up and gave their ammo counts. Kearns raised an eyebrow.

"I was a Boy Scout." said Mike.

"So what's the word, Harry?"

"After chow, Third Platoon is going to recon that tree line. Then the company will come up and we'll continue on with us on point. Mike pass the word for the men to drop their rucks. Second Platoon will bring 'em up.

When the platoon was ready they went over the dike and started towards the tree line. They spread out in a skirmish line in the calf high water of the rice paddy. Halfway across mike noticed some of the guys starting to bunch up.

"**HEY**, spread out Marines!"

In the distance there were two faint "Thunks".

"_OH, SHIT"_ thought Mike.

"**INCOMING!!"**

The tree line erupted with muzzle flashes. Mortar rounds started to impact in the paddy.

"**Mike, Mike.** Pull 'em back!"

Lt. Kearns was gesturing back towards the dike.

As Third Platoon backed towards the safety of the dike, they returned fire. Mike was firing his M-14 on semi-auto. Other Marines were firing their M-16's on full auto. The rest of the Company up on the dike was laying down covering fire.

Enemy rounds were snapping in the air around Franks. As Mike reached the dike his luck ran out. He felt a solid blow to his right thigh. Then a sensation like someone had stuck a hot poker in his leg. Mike fell backward, landing on his ass, back against the dike.

"_Hope I don't drown. Wouldn't that be a bitch?"_

It was his last conscious thought.

**Mike's house, Present day**

Mike was snapped back into the present by the front door banging against the wall. A very wet Camilla stomped into the living room.

"Hola, Miguel."

She saw his hand massaging his leg and the glass in his hand.

"The leg bothering you?"

"No more'n usual on a rainy day."

Mike leered and waggled his eyebrows

"Wanta rub it and make it better?"

Camilla smiled and stepped close.

"I could be persuaded."

Mike wrapped his arms around her.

"Consider yourself persuaded."

**A/N: **I have the utmost respect for Vietnam vets. They got a raw deal when they came home. Any mistakes I made in the above story were unintentional. Any resemblance to real people is also unintentional. **finlaure**, I didn't forget your story. It's next. Folks, if you liked what you read, please review. Would it help if I said "pretty please?"


	8. Liam

**Disclaimer: If I had been bright enough to come up with NCIS, I wouldn't have had to spend 29 years**

**carrying a gun and wearing soft body armor. But I wasn't. DPB owns it all. The lucky dog.**

**Spoilers: **Iceman

**Authors Note:** This chapter came about 'cause **finlaure** wanted a story about Mike Franks' son.

This one's for her. You don't have to read the chapter "No Absolution", but it'll

help. Hope you like it **finlaure.**

**Nuestra Senora del Perpetuo Cementeria de los Dolores, Baja Mexico, Present Day, 0700 hrs**

Mike Franks liked coming to the cemetery early in the morning. It was cooler and more peaceful. Mike tried to get to the cemetery at least three times a week. Sometimes he came more, but three was the minimum. Taking a familiar path he came to the gravesite.

**Liam Michael O'Neill**

**Beloved Son**

**Father**

**US Marine**

**June 6, 1983**

**March 20, 2007**

The lush green grass was a sharp contrast to the surrounding graves. Franks had gotten some seed from a buddy who ran the maintenance department for a golf course. It stood up to heat, stayed green and didn't need a lot of water.

Mike gazed down at the headstone.

"Hello, Son. Brought you a picture Hope drew ya."

Franks reached into his pocket and drew out a folded piece of construction paper. He unfolded it and placed it near the headstone, weighing it down with a rock.

The picture showed a stick figure man, woman and child standing by a house near water. There was a big yellow sun over it.

"I asked her where I was in the picture an' she said I was inside takin' a nap."

Mike unfolded a camp stool he'd brought along and sat.

"Liam, she's sharp as a whip. She can speak three languages. Camilla says she picked up Spanish faster than any _gringo_ she's ever met."

Mike lit a cigarette and took a deep drag.

"The other night Amaya was showing her pictures of you. She really liked the ones of you in uniform. I guess even _little_ girls like a man in uniform."

Mike stood and picked up his makeshift watering can. As he watered his mind drifted.

Back to a day in 2005.

**Mike's house, 0830 hrs.**

Mike Franks was sitting at his kitchen table nursing a hangover. He'd had the famous "one too many" at Carlos' last night.

He vaguely became aware of a loud knocking at the front door. He wasn't expecting anyone. Franks moved to the door, ready to unload on whoever was making the racket that wasn't helping his hangover.

Mike whipped open the door to be met with the sight of a well set up young man wearing a scarlet tee shirt with gold letters spelling "USMC"

"WHAT!"

"I'm looking for Mike Franks?"

"Well, you found him."

"I'm your son."

Mike's jaw dropped. He looked closer at the man standing in front of him. Well, yeah, around the eyes and the shape of the nose, he could see his ex.

"Don't just stand there then, come on in."

The lad picked up a small bag and walked in. He stuck out his hand.

"I'm Liam O'Neill"

Mike grasped the proffered hand.

"How'd you find me?"

Liam laughed.

"When I got transferred to Pendleton I took a couple of pictures Mom gave me over to the NCIS field office. I started asking around. They finally decided I wasn't one of your old arrests and told me you'd retired and where you were."

"Why now?"

"I'm deploying in a month and I wanted to see you."

The young man gave him a look that made Mike's eyes water a little.

"Well come on out back and we'll catch up."

So they sat on the deck looking at the ocean, filling in the gaps of time. After two hours they finally were talked out. Liam pulled a picture out of his pocket and showed it to Franks.

"This is the first picture of you I ever saw. I was looking at a photo album of Mom's and this was stuck in the back." Mike laughed softly and rubbed his right thigh.

"That picture was taken in '69 in the Arizona Territory, Vietnam. It was the day before I got hit. That's me in the middle. The guy on the left is Lt. Harry Kearns. He stayed in the Corps and retired a Brigadier General. The guy on the right is "Chip" Thomas our RTO. He stayed in the Corps too. Retired a Master Gunnery Sergeant."

Liam put the picture away. During the past two hours as they'd talked, Franks told Liam to call him Mike. "Dad" didn't quite sound right to him.

"Mike, why did Mom leave you?"

"What did she say?"

"She won't."

Mike sighed and lit a smoke.

"Your mother never could get used to the long hours I spent working. She wanted the whole 'husband comes home at five o'clock to a nice dinner' thing. Wasn't gonna happen. The violence involved spooked her too. Then I got shot. Not bad, just a flesh wound. That was the beginning of the end. Couple of months later she was gone. Never even told me she was pregnant."

Mike blew a stream of smoke thru his nose.

"Hindsight bein' what it is, I shoulda figured out she was pregnant. But it didn't click."

Liam nodded.

"She still hates violence. Freaked out when I joined the Corps. Took your name in vain a lot. She's come around though."

"Does she know you're gonna deploy?"

"I haven't written that letter yet."

Mike chuckled.

"Good luck with that."

Liam stood.

"Gotta hit the head."

Mike watched his son walk inside.

"_Son. This is gonna take some gettin' used to."_

Liam had a couple of days of leave. They fished, drank beer and talked some more.

On the last day, Mike drove Liam to the bus stop in town. When the bus pulled in, Liam extended his hand. Mike stepped in and hugged him fiercely.

"Take care of yourself, Son."

Liam hugged back and whispered, "I will, Dad."

**The Cemetery, 0730 hrs.**

The sound of a backfiring lawn mower brought Franks back to the present. The maintenance guys were cutting the lawn. Except where Mike was standing. They all knew not to even think about doing anything in regards to the gravesite of 'el hijo del Viejo'.

Mike gathered his stuff and patted the headstone.

"See ya later, Son."

Mike Franks turned and walked back to his truck.

'Til tomorrow.

**A/N:** My other muse's assistant has told me that in order for this to be a tearjerker she has to sniff three(3) times. So, hit that green button and let me know how many times _**you**_ sniffed. How'd I do Wendy?


	9. Tea & No Sympathy

**Disclaimer: Blah,Blah,Blah,Not Mine, Blah,Blah,Blah.**

**Author's Note: M E Wofford** wanted a Mike/Ziva story set in Season 7. This is not exactly what she wanted, but its close enough for government work. Takes place either during "Reunion" or slightly after.

**Spoilers:** Reunion, Iceman, Kill Ari II

"_Mike Franks is a very capable man."_**- Ziva David, "Iceman"**

**The Washington Navy Yard, Present day, 1230hrs.**

Mike Franks had a spring in his step as he walked out the pedestrian gate of the Navy Yard. One again he'd bested the pencil necked bean counters in Pensions and Benefits. He was now on his way to Charlie's Bar, a couple of blocks away. He'd pick up his carryon from the bartender, grab the Metro to Reagan International, and be on his deck by sunset.

Franks had come up Friday afternoon and spent the weekend bunking at Gibbs' house. The down side of this was having to listen to Leroy Jethro Gibbs try and work thru what Mike thought of as "the David Problem."

"_Couple of more hours and I won't care. Ahh, Shit." _

Up ahead on Franks' left, sitting at a table of an outdoor coffee/tea bar was Ziva David.

Mike, without conscious thought took several more steps to the left to break line of sight further. Then he noticed that although David was looking in his general direction, she wasn't _seeing_. Franks stopped and lit a cigarette. Studying the young woman sitting at the table he noted she had a cup in front of her that appeared not to have been touched. But it was the eyes that got Mike.

The Thousand Yard Stare.

He'd seen it enough in Vietnam. Guys at the end of their mental rope with no knot on the end to hold onto.

"_Come on Mikey, you've got no dog in this fight. Walk on by."_

This was not strictly true. Despite his bluster and his "rules" Gibbs cared for this young woman. Franks cared for Gibbs. So by extension Mike should care about Ziva.

"_Shit. My Momma always said I couldn't keep my nose out of other people's business."_

Mike ground out his smoke and walked to the table, dropping into the chair next to Ziva's.

"Ya know, if you don't get your head outta your ass, some punk with a Saturday Night Special could cap ya right where you're sittin'."

Ziva started, whipped her head around and opened her mouth, prepared to verbally cut someone's throat. When she registered who was sitting next to her, her mouth closed, then opened again.

"Mike Franks."

"Officer David."

"What are you doing here?"

Mike hooked his thumb over his shoulder.

"Pensions and Benefits."

"Ah." Ziva smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"How are you, David?"

"I am fine, Franks. Pending firearms requalification and my last psych eval, I am restricted to desk duties."

"Psych eval, huh. Dr. Man Hands?"

"Yes. How did you know about…?"

"Dr. Man Hands? Just 'cause I'm retired, doesn't mean I don't know what's goin' on around here. So, what have you and the good doctor been talking about? How your Daddy is using you like a disposable lighter? How you killed your brother 'cause he turned rouge and started working for Hamas? How the same outfit blew up your little sister?"

Ziva surged out of her chair shifting her feet. Mike's hand snaked out, grabbing her right wrist, pinning her hand to the table.

"I wouldn't. Shape you're in, even an old guy like me might be able to kick your ass."

A waiter had hustled up. Mike froze him with "the look."

"Lady's had a little shock. If you want to make yourself useful, bring her another Earl Grey. I'll have a lemon grass if you have it. Black coffee if not. "

"Siddown, 'sweetcheeks', we're not quite done."

Mike let go and Ziva sat back down.

"Didn't mean to rile you. Wanted to make sure I had your attention."

"You do."

"David, you survived something that would have killed most people. Surviving was the easy part. Now ya gotta live. It's not going to be easy. You have people who care for you and will help you if you let 'em."

Their tea came. Ziva gave Mike an amused glance as he sipped his.

"What?"

"Lemon grass tea, Franks?"

"My ex used to drink it. Got me hooked."

After his second sip, Mike pulled out a cigarette and went to light it. Ziva gently took the Zippo out of Mike's hand, worked the thumbwheel and lit the smoke.

On one side of the Zippo's body there was an inscription:

**Life's a Bitch**

**Then you Die**

The other side said:

**To Mike **

**From Harry**

**An Hoa, 1969**

"Brigadier Kearns, yes?"

Now it was Mike's turn to look surprised.

"I too know things, Franks."

"Touché. What I'm trying to say is, the shrink isn't the only one who can help you here. Hell, even Dinozzo could….."

"Tony is the least of my problems right now. Gibbs……"

Franks smiled.

"…..will come around. Not right away. But he will. Because he wants to. He just has to adjust."

"But Franks, he doesn't trust me."

"I didn't say it was gonna be all roses right away. Consider this though. He's given you a second chance. After they've lied to him, how many people have gotten a second chance? Right, none."

Ziva's eyes were looking less haunted.

"But…."

"No buts, Officer Da-veed. Do. Not. Fuck. This. Up. There are no more chances after this one."

Mike finished his tea and stood.

"Vaya con Dios, Ziva."

Mike Franks headed down the sidewalk towards Charlie's Bar and Mexico.

**Mike's House, Baja Mexico, ten days later, 1500hrs.**

Mike's granddaughter Hope came running onto the back deck.

"Mail's here Poppy!"

"Thanks, princess. What did your Mom tell you about running thru the house?"

"It's not ladylike."

"Right."

Mike took the mail from Hope, who was moving from foot to foot.

"Something, Hope?"

"You got a card Poppy. Is it your birthday?"

"No darlin'. It's not."

Mike separated the card sized envelope from the rest of the mail. The buff colored envelope had no return address. Mike's address had been written in a woman's hand.

"_Hell, it's too skinny for a letter bomb."_

Mike pulled a small balisong knife from his shorts, flipped it open and slit the envelope. A note card fell out.

_**Gracias**_

_Z_

Hope was looking at the card.

"Who's it from Poppy?"

"A friend of a friend."

**A/N:** The Thousand Yard Stare is a characteristic of acute stress reaction or combat stress reaction. The despondent stare is displayed by victims who have succumbed to the shock of trauma by dissociation from it. It is a symptom of severe psychological distress(thank you Wikipedia).


	10. First Day on the Job

**Disclaimer: I really don't have to go over this again do I? We all know the deal don't we?**

**Author's Note:** This is the 10th Chapter of my Mike Franks story "El Viejo". I never thought it would go more then maybe five or so. On TV, shows make a big fuss over their 100th episode. So I'm going to make a small fuss over my 10th. Thanks to all of you who have come along for the ride. Special kudos to the following, who have encouraged, cajoled and downright nagged me into this: **M E Wofford & elflordsmistress**, they're the main reason we're all here. Also the people who read me all the time, **BAMACHRUSH,finlaure,MissJayne,chrissyjoy,4sweetdreams,USAFCHIEF,alix33**, thanks for stoppin' by. At the end I'll have a question for you. But for now, sit back and enjoy.

**Spoilers: **Hiatus 1&2, for flashbacks. If you want you could go back and read "Beer & Memories" to sort of reacquaint yourself with an OC I created.

**Technical Notes- **Wouldn't be one of my stories w/o at least a couple:

**FLETC-** Federal Law Enforcement Training Center. Located in Glynn County, Georgia. NCIS started sending its Special Agents there for standardized training in 1984.

**CITP**- Criminal Investigator Training Program. 60 day school for federal agents other then FBI.

**Colt Python-** .357 Magnum revolver manufactured by Colt Industries between 1955 and 1996. It has a very distinctive appearance due to a full under lug and ventilated rib barrel.

**ADO-** Assistant Director for Operations. Don't know if NCIS has one. But they do now.

**SAC-** Special Agent in Charge. The man or woman who runs the Field Office.

**SAC's Office, Camp Pendleton MCB, October 1991, 1400hrs.**

"Are you sure you want to take this on, Franks?"

Senior Special Agent Mike Franks looked at SAC Harold "Iron Ass" Applegate and grunted.

"Hell yes. I think the kid'll do fine."

The "kid" in question was soon to be former Gunnery Sergeant Leroy Jethro Gibbs, USMC. SAC Applegate glanced at the file on his desk.

"Dr. Philbin says that Gibbs' psych evaluation is good."

Franks grunted again.

"_I wonder if he'd say that if he'd been with me on the beach when I found the kid about ready to eat his Berretta."_

"He also says that Gibbs is coping well with the death of his wife and daughter."

Mike grunted a third time.

"_What a tool this shrink is. Gibbs is coping 'cause I let him get a peek at the file. Then I'm pretty sure he went to Mexico and iced the scum that killed his family. 'Course I can't prove that."_

"So, are you gonna hire him or not Harold?"

"I've got the okay from Washington. His spot is reserved at FLETC. He'll report November 1 for CITP and be back here the first week in January."

Mike stood.

"Sounds good. If that's all, I've got boo-coo paperwork to catch up on."

Applegate raised a hand.

"One more thing. I've gotten another memo from the ADO about your Python. You know that the agency is phasing out personal firearms. It's only a matter of time before he makes it an order."

Franks had moved to the door. His hand on the knob, Mike turned his head.

"With all due respect, you can tell the ADO for me…"

Mike opened the door.

"…to take a running fuck at a rolling donut."

Mike slid out the door and closed it softly. Sitting across from the door was a civvy clad Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Franks grinned.

"I'd give it a few minutes before knocking on his door, Gunny."

**Code Four Lounge, Oceanside CA, 1630hrs.**

True to his word, Mike Franks had done some overdue paperwork when he left the SAC. He was now enjoying a couple of beers prior to heading home. The bar was starting to fill up. The 8 to 4 shift was filtering in. Gibbs slid onto the bar stool next to him.

"Thanks for going to bat for me, Agent Franks."

Mike looked at the young man sitting next to him. With the still short "high and tight" hair cut and brand new, obviously off the rack suit, Gibbs looked like he just got out of San Quentin.

"_Gonna have to spruce this kid up when he gets back from FLETC."_

"No problem, Gunny. Don't thank me yet. You've still gotta pass CITP."

"Agent Applegate said he thought I'd have no problem."

Franks stood, finishing his beer.

"Well, we'll see. Enjoy your two month vacation in Georgia. 'Cause when you get back, your ass belongs to me."

**NCIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton, Two months later, 0700hrs.**

Mike Franks pulled into the field office parking lot. He hated Monday's. There had been no cases over the weekend. This meant cold case reviews. He hated cold case reviews like Fleet sailors hated rust. His mood lightened as he spied Gibbs' pickup. The New Guy would be perfect for cold case reviews.

Franks breezed into the bullpen. There were six pairs of desks facing each other. Gibbs was emptying a cardboard box into the drawers of the desk facing Mike's.

"Mornin', Probie."

"Good Morning, Sir"

Mike's face stiffened.

"Don't 'Sir' me Gibbs. I work for a livin'. You can call me Franks, Agent Franks or Boss. Don't 'Sir' me."

Jethro's face had blanched during Mike's mini rant.

"Yes, si..Boss."

Mike smiled.

"Better, Probie. Settlin' in okay?"

Gibbs just nodded.

Mike's smile got wider.

"After you get your trash organized, we'll go over some things. I'll be back in fifteen."

Franks went to the head, had a cigarette and came back.

"OK, first thing. Here's your key ring. This first key is for the supply locker, second key is the afterhours evidence drop box, third key is for our car, and no you're not driving anytime soon. Second thing, you've been issued your weapon and credentials right?"

Gibbs nodded in the affirmative.

Mike laughed.

"Cat got your tongue, Probie?"

"No, Boss."

"See, that wasn't so hard. C'mon we're gonna take a ride."

Mike and Gibbs walked out to the parking lot. There were half a dozen Ford Crown Vics.

"We just got these the other day. You shoulda seen the crap we were drivin' before."

Mike stopped by the third car from the doorway. He opened the trunk.

"You're responsible for keepin' her clean inside and out, gassed and stocked up with supplies. Woe betide you if I ever go in here and find no gloves, film or anything else I need at a crime scene missing."

"Yes, Boss."

"Let's go for that ride."

Mike drove them to a nondescript brick building next to the Provost Marshal's Office.

"We share forensic techs with Marine CID. The lead tech is ours though. Her name is Bailey Coopersmith. Got degrees from Caltech and UCLA. She's sharp as a K-Bar with a tongue to match."

Gibbs and Mike walked up to a steel door watched over by a surveillance camera. Mike looked up. The door lock buzzed. Both men walked thru the door and down a short hallway to a lab.

Standing in front of a computer wearing a white lab coat was the aforementioned Bailey Coopersmith. 5'6", long straight blond hair and a surfer girl tan. She turned her head and smiled. Hazel eyes danced with humor.

"Well, if it isn't El Viejo and his new gun bearer. Good Morning, guys."

"Hi, Coop. Meet Probationary Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs."

"Hello Leroy."

Bailey stuck out her hand. She noticed the slight grimace when she said "Leroy".

As they shook hands, she said, "Leroy no good?"

Gibbs shrugged.

"Gibbs or Jethro would be better."

"Fair enough, Gibbs. Call me Coop. Everybody does."

"Any words of wisdom for my Probie, Coop?"

Bailey's eyes got serious.

"Always, always wear gloves at a crime scene. Contaminate my evidence and I'll have your ass. Do you smoke?"

"Ah, no."

"Good, you can keep an eye on the Boss and make sure his ashes and cigarette butts don't wind up in my evidence."

"Christ, Bailey it was one freakin' time."

"One time is too many, Bossman." she said sweetly.

"C'mon Probie, let's get movin'."

"Aw, Franks, don't go away mad…"

"I know the rest, Coop. Don't say it."

Bailey's laugh followed them into the corridor. Franks mumbled something about "smart assed scientists".

The two agents got into the Crown Vic and headed back for the office.

"Well Gibbs, fun time is over. Back to the salt mine. Cold case files await."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"When there are no active jobs we review cold cases."

Several hours later Mike saw that Gibbs' eyes were starting to glaze over. He laughed, leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette.

"Welcome to the exciting world of Federal law enforcement, Probie."

**A/N:** Okay folks what do ya think? If you liked it please hit that green button. If you didn't like it hit the green button. See, it's a win-win. Now for the question I said I was going to ask. There are now ten Mike stories. Which one was your favorite? Inquiring minds want to know. Well actually I want to know. You can include it in your review if you'd like, or not, it's up to you.


	11. Gone Fishin'

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the intellectual property of Donald P Bellisario and Don McGill. I'm not making any money here. Though a couple of nice reviews would be welcome.**

**Authors Note:** I wrote this story for **BAMACRUSH**. She wanted a fishing, drinking and male bonding type story. With a little perspective on Jenny from Judgment Day thrown in. Hope I came thru. The story takes place in the two week period in "No Absolution". "Outlaws and In-laws" has named Mike's granddaughter and daughter-in-law. However, I was here first so I'm not changing anything. Besides, I like the name Hope.

**Spoilers: **Judgment Day 1&2, Faking it.

"_I could tell my heart that I don't miss you. My lips could tell a lie, but My Heart Would Know"_**- Hank Williams Sr. 1951**

**Mike's boat, 20 miles off Baja, Mexico 1520hrs**

They'd left at first light, gliding out of the marina under easy sail. Mike Franks and Leroy Jethro Gibbs were going fishing. At least that was the stated purpose. The three cases of Dos Equis beer were also probably going to impact on the day.

The fishing portion of the trip was accomplished by 1100. Mike had reeled in four red snapper. Jethro had tied into a yellow fin tuna. After a twenty minute fight the 100 pound fish was being filleted and the first beers of the day were being consumed. For forms sake there were a couple of sandwiches in the cooler along with the beer.

While filleting their catch Mike eyed his Probie. Two thirds of Gibbs' vacation was over. He'd gone out a couple of times with the Irish girl he'd met after storming out of Carlos'. As far as Mike could tell, that's all that occurred. Gibbs had also done the godfather thing. Going to the beach with Hope, making her circus animals out of scrap lumber and much to the consternation of her Mom, spoiling her rotten.

Now, Mike and Gibbs were alone on the water, fishing done. The drinking started, and soon so did the talking. It started innocently enough. Past cases, common friends, war stories.

"Say, Probie, did I ever tell you the difference between a fairy tale and a war story?"

"No, Boss, I don't think so."

"Well, a fairy tale starts 'Once upon a time'. A war story starts 'This is no shit'."

Gibbs let out a small chuckle and looked off into the distance.

"Okay, Probie, spit it out."

"What?"

"We've been dancin' around this since that day in the cantina. So get it off your chest."

Gibbs sighed.

"I wish she'd have come to me Mike."

"Well, she didn't Jethro. When she called me I knew the deal. It was gonna be something off the books. Which meant that if it turned to shit I was expendable."

Gibbs looked shocked.

"Hell's bells Gibbs. Do you really think that she'd want anything to happen to you, DiNozzo or David if it went south?"

"But, Boss…"

"Once she told me you were involved I was in. She was gonna fix the problem herself. With a little help from yours truly."

"_It'll be just the way you like it. No paperwork."_

Gibbs looked down at the deck.

"Mike, I also think she killed 'The Frog'".

Franks raised an eyebrow. Jethro went on to explain about the marks on the cartridge casing. After the explanation, Mike grinned.

"So, I'm supposed to be what? Shocked? I'll say two words to ya Probie, 'Arkady Kobach'. Good for her."

Gibbs pulled them two more beers from the cooler. Mike lit a cigarette.

"Boss, did she mention being sick?"

"No she didn't. I brought it up."

"_Found your pills."_

"_You went thru my purse?"_

"_Your purse, your cell phone and your glove box."_

"She wasn't happy I knew. Listen, Probie, when I came back here, I went to a sawbones I know. Told him the name of the pills. It would have been bad when it finally hit her. She did not want you seeing her like that."

"It wouldn't have mattered to me, Mike."

"But it would have mattered to her, Gibbs."

Mike made a course correction setting up their route back to the marina.

"Why was she alone when it jumped off Mike?"

"She found some tea. There was a water cistern out back. I needed to take a leak. So I went. Heard the truck pull up. Got one going in the back. By the time I got inside, it was over. I cleaned up and got the hell out of Dodge."

Gibbs shook his head.

"I never should have let it get as far as it did."

"Bullshit, Jethro. The die was cast when she couldn't pull the trigger and then lied about it."

Franks tossed his cigarette over the side.

"This was a raw deal all the way around. I want you to think about this, though. A man's lucky if he has one big love in his life. You've had two. Hell, who knows, there could be another. Third time's the charm."

It was quiet the rest of the trip back to the marina. Just the sound of the wind in the rigging and the water rushing down the side of the boat.

**A/N:** I was never really happy with "No Absolution". I felt that I kind of screwed the pooch with it. This story coupled with that one makes me feel a little better. Also, my muse's assistant gave me some sage advice. I even followed it this time. Reviews please. C'mon, I said please.


	12. No Conscience

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of its creators. The only things I own are my OC's. Although if they wanted to use my ideas, a couple large would be nice.**

**Author's Note: **Some of the Mike fans out there have told me Mike's not gettin' enough. I don't do smut, so you're going to have to use your imagination. This story takes place in the period before Gibbs gets back from FLETC, in "First Day on the Job".

**The Code Four Lounge, Oceanside, CA Friday, 1920 hrs**

Mike Franks slid onto the bar stool. Andy the bartender reached into the cold box for a Corona.

"Belay that." growled Mike.

Andy raised an eyebrow.

"Jamesons, water back."

The bartender poured the eighteen year old whiskey and drew off a glass of water. He placed the drink in front of Franks with his right hand and held out his left, palm up.

"What?" said Mike.

"Keys. Whenever you step into the Jamesons, you have a tendency to drink yourself stupid."

"What're you, my mother now?"

"No, I'm the guy who'll cut you off after this drink if you don't give up your keys. Give 'em up."

Mike grumbled, but gave up his keys. He detached his apartment key first though.

"Thank you Michael. Tough week?"

"You might say that."

Mike's "week" had started the previous Saturday when he'd had a Class "A" domestic with Elena. The cause doesn't really matter. The end was a shout of "_Hijo de la gran puta!"_ and Elena stomping out of his apartment. She hadn't returned any of his calls. She wasn't answering her door. At work, since he was between partners, he was out of the rotation. This meant he was reviewing cold cases and doing National Security Interviews (aka background checks). It was driving Franks nuts. He'd been a good boy though. He would only stop for a beer or two on "school nights". He knew if he really started drinking he'd be using sick days.

But now it was Friday. It was also Jazz Night at the Code Four. Franks was going to drink, listen to some jazz and maybe try his luck. Mike noted it wasn't as crowded as it usually was on a Friday. Jazz Night was not popular with the young coppers. The crowd tonight was older and more subdued.

As "The TraneMen" eased into '_Round Midnight_, Mike noticed the woman across from him at the bar. He'd seen her earlier in the week. She looked vaguely familiar but he couldn't place her. Lighting a cigarette he caught Andy's eye. He angled his chin in the woman's direction and raised an eyebrow.

"Don't know, Mike. She started coming in on Monday. Been here every night since. Manhattan's. Knock's 'em back like a pro."

"Really."

"C'mon, Mike. She's got a ring on."

"First my mother, now you're tryin' for Jiminy Cricket?"

Andy shrugged.

"'Kay, Mike. Forget I said anything."

Andy moved off to serve another customer. Franks sipped his whiskey and smoked his smoke.

_Talkin' to her can't hurt. If she's just slummin', no harm, no foul._

Mike picked up his drink and cigarettes. He walked around the horseshoe to the seat next to the woman. Early to middle thirties, wearing a burgundy scoop neck blouse and black jeans.

"Mind if I sit down?"

She turned full face to him and smiled.

"Help yourself."

_Damn, now I know why she looked familiar. If Lauren Bacall had a twin, she'd be it._

The hair was darker and the eyes were violet. Otherwise looks and voice was almost a perfect match.

_Wonder if 'Bogey' knows 'Baby' is missing._

"Thanks. Mike Franks."

"Hi, Mike. Samantha Douglas. My friends call me 'Slim'."

Mike looked her up and down.

"'Course they do."

Slim laughed.

"You don't waste any time, do you?"

"Nope. Can I buy you a drink?"

"Sure."

Mike got Andy's attention and made a twirling motion while pointing at the bar. Andy nodded and started making the drinks.

Franks turned back to Slim in time to see her get out a cigarette. He picked up his lighter and flicked it open. She grabbed his hand to steady it while she lit the smoke. Her grip was warm and firm.

"Thanks."

As she let go, she saw the inscription on the side of the lighter and laughed.

"That's quite a philosophy."

"But sometimes, oh so true."

After the drinks came, they made some small talk. Slim got a serious look on her face.

"Bet you're wondering what a married lady is doing here, huh?"

"Well, the thought did cross my mind."

Slim sighed.

"Mr. and Mrs. Douglas are in Orlando at a sales conference. Except the 'Mrs. Douglas' in Orlando is my husband's Personal Assistant. I found the reservation confirmation by accident Monday morning."

"Ouch."

"Yeah, 'Ouch' is right. So I've been coming in here since Monday night, having twentysomething cops and MP's hitting on me. Only problem is, they all remind me of my nephews.

Mike chuckled. "The TraneMen" swung into _Naima._

"Care to dance?"

"Love to, Mike."

As they moved around the small dance floor, Slim put her head on Mike's shoulder.

"You move pretty good, Mike."

"My Momma made me take ballroom dancing freshman and sophomore year of high school. She said a Southern gentleman had to know how to dance properly."

When the song ended they went back to the bar.

"So, what now Mike?"

"Oh, I thought a couple more drinks and some dancin'."

"And then?"

"Well, I guess that'll be up to you Slim."

"I'll be back. Have to go to the ladies."

As she walked away, Franks admired the rear view. Andy came over and put down new drinks.

"Come on, Mike. Do you really want to be on the back end of a grudge fuck?"

"Eavesdropping, Andy me lad?"

"No, but come on."

"A stiff dick has no conscience Andy."

"What about Elena?"

"She'll do what she always does if she finds out about one of my indiscretions. Threaten to cut off my _cojones_."

"That's it?"

Mike laughed.

"This is not the first time we've hit a speed bump in our relationship. She knows I always come home to momma."

"I give up."

As Andy moved away, Slim returned.

"Can I ask you a question Mike?"

"Sure, Slim."

"I overheard one of the Marine MP's the other night call you "El Viejo". What's that mean?"

Franks grinned.

"It means 'the old guy' in Spanish. To these young bucks, anybody over twenty five is old."

They sipped their drinks. Slim finally spoke.

"How about continuing this at my place?"

"You sure, Slim?"

She nodded.

**Bedroom, the Douglas house, Saturday 0740 hrs**

Mike woke to the smell of coffee and frying bacon. It took him a minute to realize where he was. There was a throbbing behind his eyes.

_Damn Irish whiskey does it every time._

Franks sat up and tried to get out of bed. His left ankle was handcuffed to the bed.

"What the…"

Then it came back to him.

_Slim giggled. "I saw this in a cop movie with Gene Hackman once." _

She'd cuffed him to the bed, so "he couldn't escape". Mike spotted his wallet on the nightstand. He fished his spare cuff key out of the billfold compartment. He unlocked the cuffs and stood. Franks gathered up his clothes and got dressed. The only thing he couldn't find was his shirt. He had a pretty good idea where he'd find it.

Mike followed his nose to the kitchen. He stood in the doorway watching Slim make breakfast in just his shirt.

"Morning Slim."

"Jeez, Mike you almost gave me a heart attack."

"Expected me to still be handcuffed to your bed?"

Slim blushed.

"Well…It seemed like a cute idea at the time."

"Hey, I'm flattered. Breakfast smells great. I'm hungrier then Jack the Bear."

"Be ready in about ten minutes. But the coffee's done."

Mike got himself coffee and sat down in the breakfast nook.

"Have any plans for the day?" asked Slim lightly.

"I gotta drive up to LA and meet with this knock around guy I've arrested in the past. He's got a highjacking case comin' up in Federal District Court. Wants me to put in a good word with the US Attorney."

Slim looked disappointed

"Why would you do that?"

Mike smiled.

"This guy says he can give me info on some Russian who's selling stolen Navy and Marine Corps small arms. If the info's good, the guy looks like he's workin' for Uncle. Maybe the US Attorney'll put in a good word with the judge at sentencing."

"When do you have to leave?"

"Told the guy I'd meet him at 1230."

"So…"

"Look Slim, sometimes these things don't go off exactly on schedule. I'm not sure when I'll get back."

Breakfast was consumed in silence. They cleared the dishes away. Slim walked towards the doorway. She looked back over her shoulder.

"Why don't you come upstairs and I'll give you your shirt back."

"All right."

It was forty five minutes before Mike could call for a cab to go back and pick up his car.

**A/N: **The movie with Gene Hackman was "The French Connection". My favorite actress of all time, Lauren Bacall got a Lifetime Achviement Oscar on November 14. She was my first movie star crush. I first saw her in "To Have and Have Not". It was her first film. She was nineteen. I was in looove. Except the film was from 1944 and I saw it in 1968. Boy was I disappointed. That film is where "Slim" comes from. As always reviews are greatly appreciated by the management.


	13. Enemies & Friends

**Disclaimer: For the standard disclaimer, see any of the preceding chapters. I'm tired of writing the damned thing.**

**Author's Note: **I wrestled with this story for about a month. I couldn't seem to get it to gel. Like "No Absolution", I'm not totally happy with it. It's a pivotal moment in the Gibbs/Franks relationship. I hope it works. Because of the loyalty of the people who read "El Viejo" I really want it right.

**Technical Notes: **I'll be using some terms that bear explaining.

**The Basic School (TBS) - **Where newly commissioned Marine officers go to learn their craft.

**Temporary Additional Duty (TAD) -** Duty where a Marine is detached from his unit temporarily and serves elsewhere.

**brick agent-** A Special Agent who spends a majority of his time on the street ("hitting the bricks") solving crimes. Not back at the office playing politics or doing paperwork.

**COMNAVSPECWAR-** Commander Naval Special Warfare.

**OSI- **Office of Special Investigation, Air Force equivalent of NCIS.

**Bldg #131 Khobar Towers Dhahran Air Base, Saudi Arabia, June 25, 1996 2155hrs Local**

Staff Sergeant Alfredo Guerrero, USAF Security Police was checking the roof top security post. The two airmen on duty reported nothing unusual. As Sgt. Guerrero idly talked to the sentry on the parking lot side, he observed an olive drab gas tanker following a white Chevy Caprice make its way thru the parking lot. The Chevy drove along the fence line bordering Bldg #131. It stopped and flashed its lights. The gas tanker pulled up close to the fence and stopped. The fence line was approximately 75 feet from the building. Two men jumped from the cab and ran to the Chevy, which rapidly left the area.

Sgt. Guerrero ordered his two men to start evacuating the building. They ran inside and started to do so. After contacting the security center about the incident, Sgt. Guerrero also ran into the building to help in the evacuation.

Three minutes later, at approximately 2158hrs, the tanker truck exploded. The force of the blast was later calculated to be the equivalent of twenty to thirty thousand pounds of TNT. Twelve members of the USAF lost their lives in the blast.

**Charlie's Bar, Two blocks from the Navy Yard, July 3, 1996 1610hrs**

Special Agent Mike Franks had had better weeks. The bombing of the Air Force billets at Khobar Towers in Saudi Arabia had reverberated through the US intelligence/law enforcement establishment. Fingers were being pointed and asses were being covered. That was why Mike was in Washington. He had submitted a detailed threat assessment on the very thing that had happened. The only problem was he couldn't supply the when. So his report had gone down the rat hole and was probably still in someone's In Box.

The day after the bombing, Franks had been ordered to Washington by the Director of NCIS. His partner Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs had also been summoned. At the time the reason had been obscure. Now however it was clear. Whatever the reason Gibbs had been pleased.

Prior to his service in Desert Shield/Storm, Gibbs had been stationed at Camp Pendleton. Prior to that he'd been TAD to The Basic School at Quantico teaching Marksmanship. During this time, Gibbs, his wife Shannon and daughter Kelly lived in a house just outside DC that Shannon had inherited from an uncle. For the past week, since Gibbs had nothing to do with the inquiry he'd been working on the house.

While Gibbs had been playing Bob Vila, Mike had been on the hot seat in a secure conference room in the Pentagon. He hadn't made any new friends. The whole alphabet had been represented. They weren't happy "the cowboys" had gotten this one right while they had dropped the ball.

After a particularly heated exchange between Mike and an Assistant Director of the CIA, the man had asked "Why do you always come up smelling like a rose, Franks?"

"'Cause I always go down smelling like a rose!" growled back Mike.

Now the inquiry was over, but the bloodletting hadn't yet started. Top candidates for censure were the CIA and OSI.

So Mike sat in Charlie's, a full ashtray and untouched Jamesons in front of him. He was waiting for Gibbs. Probie would find him here eventually. Then Franks would do something that Gibbs would never expect.

Mike would lie to him.

**The day before, the Director's Office, 1700hrs**

"Drink, Mike?" asked the Director.

"No Sir. Something tells me I'd better be sober for this."

The Director chuckled, poured himself a generous measure of whiskey and sat down behind his desk.

"Take a seat, Mike."

"Thanks."

"Mike, you've always handled tough assignments for this agency. When you uncovered this plot on your own and brought it to me I was impressed. After being pissed you kept going, when told to stop by your SAC. Not many agents would keep digging when told to lay off."

"Well Director, I was never one to put my career before what's right."

"I understand that Mike and respect it. You're probably one of the best brick agent's and interrogator's I've ever worked with."

"Oh, boy. How much trouble am I in?"

"None."

"Then…."

"As you know, my tenure as Director will be up in February of '97. Admiral Tom Morrow will be made Director of NCIS."

The Director saw the change in Mike's face.

"You know him?"

"Only by reputation. He's COMNAVSPECWAR, the Boss SEAL."

"Any conflicts?"

"No, Sir."

"Then what?"

"Well, he's got a reputation as a spook. He worked a lot with CIA Clandestine Services."

"Mike, the world being what it is, this agency is moving somewhat in that direction."

"So, I take it that's the object of our little tete-a-tete here?" said Mike.

"Sort of. Admiral Morrow and I have been meeting informally when his duties have brought him to Washington. He wants to add an MCRT to the teams we already have. A team that would not only work crimes, but counterintelligence and anti-terrorism."

"I'm a little long in the tooth for that sort of thing, sir."

"Not you we're interested in Mike."

Franks looked confused for a second.

"Gibbs."

"Exactly. Mike, I've been watching the evaluations and case reports. He'd be perfect for Team Leader."

"I sense a but here sir."

The Director grimaced.

"He's your partner. Like it or not you've accumulated a lot of enemies, here and elsewhere. I'm afraid the Selection Board would hang you around Gibbs' neck like an albatross."

Franks knew it was the truth. The Board, chaired by the ADO would dredge up every shortcut Mike had taken, every bent rule. It would be guilt by association. Something bureaucracy was good at.

"So you're saying Gibbs has no shot?"

"Not at all. If you weren't in the picture, I think it would be smooth sailing."

"You want me to fall on my sword or something?"

"No, Mike, but you do have your twenty, don't you?"

"Yeah, I do."

"Don't you think Admiral Morrow deserves his own Mike Franks?"

Mike sighed. He hadn't thought much about retirement. He figured they'd carry him out of the job by the handles someday.

"Gibbs would smell a rat if I just up and retired…."

The Director's face became impassive and he raised an eyebrow.

"….Unless it was because I was pissed about the Khobar Towers bombing."

"Would Gibbs think that?"

"Oh, yeah. On the plane ride, I was pretty hot. I said some things about the paper pushers here inside the Beltway."

The Director steepled his fingers and closed his eyes in thought.

"I guess that's how we could handle it then. A few well placed words and the rumor mill would take care of the rest."

"Except for one thing sir. I'd have to lie to Gibbs."

"That a problem?"

"It is if you know Gibbs like I do. He'll forgive a lot of things, but lying isn't one of them."

"So, you're saying that you aren't going to do this?"

"Only if I have some assurances."

"Well, Mike, I can safely say that if you were out of the picture, the Board, with the exception of the ADO will vote for Gibbs."

Franks knew what he was going to do. His Probie deserved this. From the start Mike had seen Gibbs' potential.

"So, do I start screaming and hollering now or what?'

The Director smiled.

"No, Mike, the room is soundproofed. You could slam the door and mumble some on your way out, if you want."

Mike stood and moved to the door.

"Thanks Mike."

Franks grunted and opened the door.

**Charlie's Bar, 1615hrs**

Mike Franks watched as Gibbs pushed thru the door into the bar. The younger agent looked pissed. As he caught sight of Franks, his face brightened some. Mike motioned to the bartender.

"Old Granddad neat, and another Jamesons, water back."

Gibbs dropped onto the stool next to Franks.

"What's this bullshit I hear that you're retiring?"

"No BS, Probie. I've had enough. There's a beach in Baja callin' me."

The bartender slid them their drinks. Mike picked up his glass.

"Absent friends."

"Absent friends." repeated Gibbs.

"C'mon Boss, you can't leave."

"Oh yes I can, Probie. I'm tired of butting my head up against a stone wall."

"So you're gonna quit."

"What's that supposed to mean, Gibbs?"

"You're running away from a fight."

Mike turned fully towards Gibbs and his face got stony.

"Let me tell you something Jethro. While you were playing Little League, I was up to my ass in rice paddies bein' shot at by little rice propelled motherfuckers trying to kill me. I've been defending this country for most of my adult life and I'm tired. This was the last straw. And that was the most explainin' I've ever done to anybody."

"I still say you're running away."

"Say what you want Probie. My papers are in. This is a young man's game. I'm done."

"Damn, Boss, what am I gonna do?"

"Your job. Any idea what they've got in mind for ya?"

"Don't know. I'm TAD here for a couple of weeks. There's a rumor goin' around they're starting a new MCRT. Maybe I can catch on with that."

"How're the house repairs comin'?"

Gibbs smiled for the first time.

"Good, the real estate agency took good care of the place. Just some minor stuff to do. If I do get assigned here, I can move right in."

"That's great Probie. Look, the Director got me a ride back to the West Coast day after tomorrow on SecNav's jet. How about I take you to dinner tomorrow and we tie one on?"

"Sounds good, Boss. I'm really gonna miss you, you know."

"Don't go getting' all misty on me Probie. We had a good run. Now it's your turn. Don't make me look bad."

"Never, Boss."

**One month later, Carlos' Cantina, Baja, Mexico 1730hrs**

"You have a telefono call, Senor Mike."

Mike Franks looked up from his beer.

"Who is it Jose?"

"He didn't say Senor."

"Well, tell the son of a bitch I don't take calls from people who won't leave their names."

Jose spoke into the phone. His eyes got wide and he held out the receiver.

"The man said if that's your answer, the next time you get shot in a rice paddy, he'll let you drown."

Mike grabbed the phone.

"Harry, how are ya?"

"I'm good Mike. Retirement hasn't mellowed you, I see."

"Hell no. How'd you know where to call me?"

Retired Marine general Harry Kearns laughed.

"Not that hard, Mike. I've got a message from a mutual friend for you."

"What is it?"

"Your guy got the job."

"Well, well."

"Do you know what it means Mike?"

"Yes I do."

"Care to share?"

"Not over an international phone line. Plus it's a long story. How'd you like to do some fishin'. I'll fill you in and we can swap some lies.'

"Okay, Mike. I'll be down in a couple of days."

"Great, call me with the flight info."

"'Kay Mike, see you soon."

"So long Harry."

Mike handed the phone back to Jose.

"Gonna be a good week, Jose."

**A/N: **For his actions on June 25th Staff Sergeant Alfredo Guerrero was awarded the Airmen's Medal and a Purple Heart. Well, there it is. I never could understand why a bombing of an Air Force installation would get Mike upset enough to retire. Just my take on how it might have taken place. As always reviews are welcome.


	14. Mileage

**Disclaimer: Hello? Oh, hi Don. No, I know they belong to you. What? Of course I'm not making a profit!**

**Author's Note: **This story hit me New Year's Day in work. Since it's a holiday there was no beta reader. So if the story sucks it's all on me.

**Spoilers: **Slight one for Outlaws & In-Laws. As my regular readers will know, I named Mike's daughter –in-law and granddaughter before the writers did. So I'm using _my_ names for them, not theirs.

**Dedication: **This chapter is dedicated to my cousin Terry who crossed over the bar in March of 2008. She was four months older than me. She left us way too soon. Miss ya Ter.

_There is still no cure for the common birthday._** - John Glenn, US Marine/Astronaut**

_It's not the years, honey; it's the mileage_- **Harrison Ford, as Indiana Jones, 1981**

**Mike's house, Baja Mexico, Sunset, Present Day**

This was Mike Franks' favorite time of day. The sun was dropping into the Pacific. If he was lucky, he'd catch the "green flash". Earlier in the day, they'd all been out on the boat. They fished, swam and lazed around. Then came home and had dinner. Following dinner the cake had come out. Happy Birthday had been sung. After that Amaya and Hope had retreated inside, leaving Mike and Camilla on the deck. Camilla was sitting in his lap, legs over the side of the chair, an arm around his neck.

"And we're waiting for what, exactly?" she asked.

"The green flash."

"Oh."

Mike sighed.

"You've never seen it?"

"No, I've never looked."

"All these years living near the coast and you've never seen the green flash?"

"No."

Mike sighed again.

"Okay. It occurs either just after sunset or just before sunrise. It only lasts a second or two. Either the sun's rim turns green or there is a green ray that shoots up from the sunset point. It's caused by the refraction of light, like a prism."

"And this is important why?"

"It makes me smile."

Camilla laughed.

"You are such a child."

"That's part of my appeal."

As the sun fell towards the horizon they put the time to good use. Swapping kisses and copping feels. When the sun started sinking below the horizon, Mike grabbed her hand.

"Hey, knock it off. We're gonna miss it."

Camilla pouted.

"You can see it tomorrow."

"Tomorrow's not my birthday."

The last piece of the sun was just barely visible when it turned green for about two seconds. Then it disappeared.

"That's it?"

Mike laughed.

"Yeah, 'Milla. That's it."

"Well, I hope it was worth it."

"Oh, yeah."

Camilla laughed again.

"So, you enjoyed your birthday?"

"Yup."

Mike shifted his weight slightly and looked into Camilla's eyes.

"Should I ask you again?"

"You could, but the answer would be the same."

Every year for the past three on his birthday, Mike had asked Camilla to marry him. Each time she had said no. She knew that one of these times when he went to "El Norte" to help Leroy Jethro, he might not come back. She also knew he would go until his legs wouldn't carry him. Though she loved him she had no desire to wear widow's weeds for the rest of her days.

Mike knew the deal too. He always hoped he'd catch her at a weak moment. Truth be told, Mike knew he was slowing down. He was getting complacent too. Hell, even two years ago those mutts never would have caught him without a weapon. He was damn lucky his daughter-in-law had the presence of mind to grab that rifle. Franks always played the percentages, in cards and in life. He knew he'd always go if the Probie needed him, but the odds of getting away unscathed were starting to shorten. Mike always knew he'd never die in bed. But now the prospect worried him. He'd like to live long enough to see Hope grow up to be a young woman. If he kept going, one day the law of averages would catch up. If he stopped going, he'd feel like crap if anything happened to the people he cared about.

Mike sighed for the third time.

_This getting old shit is for the birds._

"Querido, where did you go?"

"Huh?"

"You got this really faraway look…"

"Sorry, just thinkin'"

"You've told me that that's bad for you."

Mike laughed.

"So it is. What say we take a nice romantic walk on the beach?"

Now it was Camilla's turn to laugh.

"Si', vamos a hacer eso."

Mike grabbed a blanket and they walked away from the house into the darkness, hand in hand.

**A/N:** I first saw the green flash in 1986 on the beach at the end of the road on Captiva Island, Florida. I'm turning 55 today and I guess I'm feelin' it. Part of it is I know I've got more years behind me than in front of me. The other part is around the holidays I get to missing my cousin. At family holiday gatherings we'd hang out and drink and tease each other. She was the first person I used the Harrison Ford line on. She'd been complaining about how she didn't recover from hangovers like she used to, or something like that. I waited 'til she had a mouth full of beer and hit her with it. Beer came spurting out of her nose and I damn near fell off my chair I was laughing so hard. Anyway, thanks for lettin' me vent. Hope you liked the story. If so, hit the green button. It'll make a nice birthday present.


	15. Beer in Mexico

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of DPB et al. "Beer in Mexico" belongs to Kenny Chesney. I'm just using 'em for a little while. I swear I'll give 'em back unharmed.**

**Authors Note:** I didn't exactly have a hard time with this one. I had a bitch of a hard time with it. **M E Wofford **has been after me to do a Mike/Tony story. It just wouldn't gel. Until I was driving home last night from work. Well, to be accurate it was early morning. Anyway the song "Beer in Mexico" came on and I had my story. Hope you like it.

**Spoilers: **Well, this story takes place after Flesh and Blood but before Jetlag. It also mentions things that happened in my story "Warmth of the Sun."

**Carlos' Cantina, Thursday 1500hrs**

Mike Franks slid onto the barstool and motioned for a beer. He normally wouldn't be here at this hour. Amaya and Hope were grocery shopping and Camilla was working the early shift. So, Franks would have a beer, smoke a couple of cigarettes and pass the time with his favorite bartender. Camilla slid the beer to Mike.

"Que' pasa, Miguel?"

Mike switched to Spanish.

"_Amaya and Hope are shopping, so I came to see the prettiest bartender in town."_

"_Consuelo doesn't start until five."_

Franks snorted.

"_She's too skinny."_

Camilla's cheeks got a little pink. Just as she was going to reply, the phone rang on the back bar. After answering she brought the phone and held the receiver out to Mike.

"It's Leroy Jethro."

"Probie. What's up?"

"How are ya Mike?"

"Sun's warm, beer's cold. I've got no kick."

"That's good. Boss, I need a favor."

"Spill it, Probie."

Gibbs launched into the story of DiNozzo's father showing up in DC, the events of the case and Tony secretly bankrolling his Dad.

"Heartwarming story, Probie. What's it got to do with me?"

Gibbs sighed.

"The kid was looking forward to going on that cruise Mike and I…."

"……was wondering if he could come here."

"Yeah Boss"

"Damn Gibbs. I'm not runnin' a rehab here ya know. First Ziva, now DiNozzo."

"C'mon Boss…."

Truth be told, while Mike was not fond of DiNozzo's 'hail fellow, well met' persona, Franks knew it was one of Tony's many masks. Plus Gibbs thought of the lad as a surrogate son.

_Which would make me Grandpa. Ahh Shit._

Now it was Mike's turn to sigh.

"Awright, awright. Have DiNozzo call me with his flight info before he leaves and I'll pick him up."

"Thanks, Mike. His plane lands in 90 minutes."

"_**WHAT! Goddamn it Gibbs….**_"

Mike was talking to a dead phone.

**Ensenada Airport, 80 minutes later**

After venting to Camilla, Mike picked up Amaya and Hope. The little girl was naturally excited. Ziva's friend was coming to visit. Franks dropped off his girls and drove to the airport. He made the trip in record time. This gave him the chance to have coffee, smoke a couple of cigarettes and chill.

From his vantage point by a column, Mike watched the passengers fromTony's flight straggle into the terminal proper. After a couple of minutes DiNozzo came into view. He had a small duffel over his shoulder and a carryon in hand.

_He looks like he's carryin' more than luggage_

As he spotted Mike a sheepish look came over his face.

"Hi Mike"

"DiNozzo"

"Not going to kill me are you?"

"Haven't decided yet. Come on."

Mike led the way to his pick up. Once they got to it, Tony tossed his duffel and carryon into the bed. They got in the truck and headed out of the airport.

Tony looked sideways at Mike.

"It wasn't my idea to just show up ya know. Gibbs said you'd be good with the idea and…"

"Relax, DiNozzo. Me an' the Probie will discuss this between us. You're in the clear."

Mike checked his watch.

"We'll hit Carlos' for a beer, and then go to my place. That suit ya?"

"Sure Mike"

So they stopped. Tony got introduced to Camilla and Consuelo. On the ride to Mike's house, Tony asked about the local night life.

"Well, Tony there's a couple of tourist bars around here. The major action is up in Ensenada."

"Guess maybe I'll just work on my tan then."

When they arrived at Mike's, Tony was just clear of Mike's truck when he was torpedoed by Hope.

"TONY!"

DiNozzo dropped his carryon and Hope jumped into his arms.

"Whoa, slow down princess."

"Why didn't you come when Ziva was here?"

Tony snapped his head around and looked sharply at Mike.

Franks looked back impassively.

"Well, only one of us could be off. Let's go inside. I've got something for ya."

Hope got down and pulled Tony into the house.

Mike hung back a little.

_Well, that let the cat out of the bag._

He chuckled when he realized what he had thought.

**Mike's house, Friday 2100hrs**

The day had been taken up doing touristy things. Tony had hit the beach, done some swimming and basically hung out. When Hope got home from school, Tony had gone back to the beach with her. They built a giant sandcastle and swam some.

Now the girls were inside getting Hope ready for bed. Mike and Tony were sitting on the deck nursing a couple of beers.

"She never said she came down here. This was where she was between Christmas and New Year's?"

Mike nodded.

"Showed up at Carlos' and spent a week."

"Hope said she looked unhappy at first and then was happy when she left."

"Well Tony, some alone time can be good for people sometimes."

"She didn't say anything about Somalia, did she?"

Mike gave him "the look".

"DiNozzo, I'm not a shrink or a priest. But if she wanted you to know, she'd a told ya. When ya get home ask her."

Tony got that 'kicked puppy' look.

Mike's face softened.

"Look kid, she's been hurt and hurt badly both physically and mentally. Give her some space. She'll come to you when she's ready. I don't think I'd be tellin' tales out of school if I told ya she's really glad you're there for her."

"She said that?"

"Not in so many words. Just an impression I got."

"But when I try to really talk to her, she clams up, Mike."

_You should try a bottle of Jameson_

Franks mentally head slapped himself.

"Well, don't press so much. You're her partner and her friend. Be there when it breaks. 'Cause it will."

Tony finished his beer and stood.

"Think I'll take a walk on the beach."

Mike watched the young agent head toward the surf zone.

_Man, he's got it bad._

**Carlos' Cantina, Saturday 2200hrs**

DiNozzo was leaving late Sunday afternoon. So he decided he wanted a "guy night out" on Saturday. After supper Mike and Tony hit the bars around Carlos'. Tony danced with a few turistas and was having a good time. Mike was hoping DiNozzo would snag a young lovely and go on his merry way. No such luck.

They went back to the Cantina to finish off the night. Tony started regaling people with tales of drinking bouts at Ohio State. Mike kept a low profile hoping the younger man would just shut up and drink.

After listening to Tony pop off for a while, one of Mike's friends, Pete Webster, spoke up.

"That's all well and good pal, but I bet Mikey could drink your ass under the table even now."

Mike groaned inwardly.

_I was afraid of this._

Tony grinned crookedly.

"Well, whatta ya say, old man?"

Mike started.

_What did he just say?_

Mike's voice was low and even.

"What did you just call me?"

Tony looked around the crowd that was forming.

"Old Man?"

Mike looked at Tony.

"Beer or hard liquor, DiNozzo?"

**Carlos' Cantina 0200hrs**

They had been going beer for beer since about 2230. Mike was hanging tough, but the kid was good. Franks had never wanted it to go this far. He'd tried to quick drink Tony early. But the younger man stayed right with him. Now, Franks had one more card to play. They had just each finished a bottle of beer.

"Hey, DiNozzo, want a shot?"

"Thought we said beer Mike."

"Just a little change of pace. Whatta ya say?"

"Sure, Mike. What'll it be?"

"You can pick it Tony."

The younger man smirked.

"Bourbon"

Mike laughed.

"Okay, hotshot. Bourbon it is."

Mike motioned to Jose the bartender. Jose brought over two shots.

They saluted each other and tossed off the shots.

Tony turned to Jose.

"More beer."

Jose brought two more.

Mike sipped his and Tony stared at his. After a few minutes, Tony wavered and started to fall off his stool. Two bystanders lowered him carefully to the floor.

Franks stood, being careful not to stumble. He looked down at Tony.

"Not too shabby for an old man."

Camilla walked over.

"Can I take you two home now that the _macho mierda_ is over?"

"Of course darlin'"

Tomorrow was gonna suck.

**A/N:** There it is folks. Hope ya liked it. Hit the green button and give me some feedback. Gotta go to work.


	16. Birthday

**Disclaimer: NCIS belongs to the two Don's. I just run in, grab a couple of characters, play with them and put 'em back. **

**Author's Note: **This story plot has been sitting in my idea book since **finlaure **mentioned it in her review of "Enemies & Friends". The story I want to write for** M E Wofford **just ain't jelling. I wrote this one to maybe jumpstart my Mike muse.

**Spoilers: **None. But, if you want to refresh your memory of my OC, Bailey Coopersmith you could read "Malfunctions" & "First Day On The Job". We're back in the day.

**SAC's Office, NCIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton MCB, Friday 0915hrs**

"So let me get this straight Franks. Starting Monday, you want off the rotation for the week."

"That's right Harold."

SAC Harold "Iron Ass" Applegate drummed his fingers on the desk top.

"You also want this coming Friday off for you, Gibbs and Coopersmith?"

Senior Special Agent Mike Franks nodded.

"Right again Harold."

"What's going on?"

Mike sighed.

"Thursday is Gibbs' daughter's birthday. The first since her death."

"Oh."

"Yeah. I've had this date circled on my calendar since he started workin' with me."

"Why do you need to be off the rotation?"

Franks grimaced.

"C'mon Harold. Do you really want Gibbs dealing with a possible child abuse case or a case involving a child this coming week? If we're off the rotation we'll be working cold cases. I can control that."

"Okay, but why the day off on Friday?"

" 'Cause I plan on getting Gibbs good and drunk on Thursday night. Over the last couple of days he's been even quieter than usual. And he's wound up so tight you probably couldn't pull a needle out of his ass with a tractor."

"Okay, you and Gibbs will probably be hors de combat Friday, I see that. Why Coopersmith?"

"Bailey and I are the only ones from the office that know the whole story about Gibbs. Between the two of us we should be able to keep him from doin' anything stupid."

The SAC drummed his fingers some more.

"Okay Mike. I'll make it happen."

"Thanks Harold."

**Kitchen, Gibbs' Apartment, Thursday 1730hrs**

The week had gone pretty much the way Franks wanted. The cold cases had been boring and childless. If Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs thought anything about being out of the rotation he kept those thoughts to himself.

This morning, Elena dropped Mike off. Franks hoped to beat Gibbs into work. Didn't happen. Mike put his 'go' bag in Gibbs' pick up. The day went by at a snail's pace. Finally quitting time arrived. Mike stood and stretched. His back cracked loudly.

"C'mon Probie, time to call her a day."

Gibbs tidied up his desk and stood also.

"See ya tomorrow Boss."

"Sooner than that Gibbs. Elena dropped me off this mornin'. Need a ride."

"Sure Boss."

They walked out of the field office to Gibbs' truck, getting in. Gibbs noticed Mike's bag in the passenger side foot well. He raised an eyebrow.

"Something I should know Boss?"

"Nah. We're stopping for takeout and going to your place."

Gibbs frowned.

"My place?"

"Yah. Just go with it Probie. Italian or Chinese?"

They settled on Chinese. After picking it up they went to Gibbs' apartment. Once dinner was over, Franks reached into his 'go' bag which was under the table. He removed a bottle of Jim Beam Black Label and Jameson Irish Whiskey. Mike placed the bottle of bourbon in front of Gibbs and went to get two glasses from the cabinet.

"What's going on Boss?"

Mike placed a glass next to the bottle of bourbon and sat down in front of his own.

"We're gonna have us a wake Probie."

From the expression on his face the light finally went on for Gibbs.

"No Boss. Not doing this."

Franks open his bottle and poured himself a generous measure of Ireland's best.

"Listen Gibbs, you were gonna sit here all by your lonesome, drinking 'til you passed out. At least now you'll have company."

Jethro opened his mouth to deny what Mike had said. Then closed it, knowing it was true.

"I'm not going to talk about this."

"Fine Probie. I don't give a rat's ass if you talk or not. That's up to you."

Gibbs uncapped the bottle of Jim Beam and poured.

Mike raised his glass.

"Kelly."

Gibbs just raised his glass and tossed off his drink, not trusting himself to speak.

**Gibbs' Kitchen, Friday, 0020hrs**

Mike and Jethro drank steadily thru the evening. The levels in both bottles fell. Talking was at a premium. Gibbs was under normal circumstances taciturn. Knowing Mike wanted him to talk; he made the Sphinx look chatty. Franks for his part tried to keep the conversation going. He talked about Vietnam, work, and finally sports. After twenty more minutes of not saying anything, Gibbs sighed and spoke.

"The day Kelly was born, she was a week late. The OB/GYN had us go to the hospital so he could induce labor. We got to the hospital about 1530. After getting checked in, they did some tests and started Shannon on the drugs to induce labor. For the next four or five hours I rubbed her back, walked around the maternity floor with her and tried to keep her laughing."

Mike smiled and nodded. He also poured more bourbon into Gibbs glass.

"Thanks Boss. So, about 2100 Shannon started having contractions. Then she started to dilate. Then she stopped dilating. At around 2330 it looked like Kelly was in some type of distress. The doc decided to do a C-section."

At this point both men heard the front door to the apartment open.

"Hey, is this a private party or can anybody come?"

Carrying a six pack of beer, Bailey Coopersmith walked into the kitchen. Her long blond hair was French braided, she was wearing Levi's and a man's blue striped Oxford shirt. Eyeing the three quarters empty liquor bottles in front of her co-workers, Bailey sighed.

"Looks like I'm a little behind."

Mike chuckled.

"Don't sweat it Coop. Pull up a chair. Gibbs was just talkin' about the night Kelly was born."

As she sat down and opened a beer, Bailey looked at Gibbs and raised an eyebrow.

Gibbs shrugged.

"The Boss waited me out."

Bailey laughed.

"Like that wasn't gonna happen. So what did I miss?"

Gibbs went back over the story and again stopped at the decision to do the C-section.

"Okay, so what happened next?"

Gibbs smiled.

"Well, shit started moving pretty quick. They wheeled Shan out and tried to find me a pair of scrubs that fit. By the time that happened, docs were already cutting. When they led me in, before they got me sitting down by Shannon's head, I saw parts of my wife no man should see."

Gibbs laughed at the memory.

"Shan told me that if I ever breathed a word about what I saw, she'd kill me and make the body disappear."

Both Mike and Coop put mock solemn looks on their faces.

"Your secret is safe with us Probie."

Gibbs grinned.

"Well, Kelly finally made her appearance screaming to beat the band. Shannon was getting stitched up, so they made me go along when they took Kelly to get cleaned up. They wrapped Kelly in a blanket and handed her to me. I was pole axed. What the hell had I gotten myself into? What the hell do I do? Then she looked up at me with those eyes and I just knew everything was going to be okay."

As he was speaking Gibbs head was starting to fall forward. Before his head smacked into the table, Mike grabbed him by the shoulders.

"Okay Probie, time for bed."

Gibbs looked up blearily.

"Ok Mike. I can make it."

"Sure ya can Jethro. I'll just give ya a hand."

Jethro turned to Bailey.

"'Night Coop."

Bailey stepped up to Gibbs and kissed him on the cheek.

"Good night Gibbs."

Franks steered Gibbs from the kitchen to his bedroom. Gibbs sat heavily on the bed.

"I miss 'em so much."

Tears started to run down Gibbs face. Mike squeezed Gibbs' shoulder.

"I know, son. Trust me, they know too. Time to rack out."

Gibbs sighed and swung his legs up. Franks pulled his shoes off and threw a blanket over him.

"See ya in the mornin' Probie."

"Night Boss."

Before Mike could exit the room, Gibbs started to snore. As Franks walked back towards the kitchen, Bailey came out.

"How is he?"

"Snorin' like a diesel darlin'"

"Are you going to stay?"  
"Uh huh. Go on home Coop. I'll call you tomorrow. Maybe we'll go to the beach or something. Elena's off too."

"Okay Bossman."

As she walked by, Bailey stopped and kissed Mike on the cheek.

"I always knew you were just an old softie."

Mike tried and failed to give her "the look".

"An' if you ever tell anyone else, I'll tan your butt young lady."

Bailey smirked and walked out, closing the door to the apartment softly.

Mike straightened up the kitchen and finally lay down on the couch sighing.

_I'm gettin' too old for this shit."_

**A/N: **Since Mother Nature decided to take a dump on the Garden State this past weekend, it took me longer to write this than usual. I was supposed to put it out on Sunday but I worked twenty five hours straight and just got up about an hour ago. It looks coherent to me. So, help a guy out and hit that green button. Let me know if it's okay.


	17. Beach Day

**Disclaimer: I do not own the TV show NCIS, its characters or anything connected to it. I DO own the Waterman pen I use to write my stories.**

**Authors Note: **_Certain parties_ were probably expecting a Mike/Abby story here. Well, as often happens, my muse had other ideas. On Thursday night while I was walking my round at work, this story came blasting out of the back of my mind. I hadn't planned on writing these stories back to back but it makes sense. This is the follow up to "Birthday". It's the next day, and we're still firmly back in the day.

**Gibbs' Apartment, Friday 0645hrs**

Mike Franks' eyes snapped open. It took him several seconds to figure out where he was.

_Okay. Gibbs' apartment. The couch._

The throbbing behind his eyes told him he'd abused Jameson again.

_Is that coffee I smell?_

Mike sat up, and then stood. The throbbing increased.

_Ah, hell._

He groaned, and then stretched. Franks' back popped loudly.

"Didn't hurt yourself, did you Boss?"

Mike looked over his shoulder. Standing in the kitchen doorway was a smirking Leroy Jethro Gibbs, holding a large mug.

_Looks pretty damn chipper for someone who drank 85 per cent of a bottle of Jim Beam last night._

"Nah. Got any more of that?"

"Sure, Boss. I'll get you a cup."

Mike followed his Probie into the kitchen, accepting the mug of coffee when it was offered. Gibbs gestured to the cabinet by the sink.

"Aspirin's in the cabinet."

"Thanks Probie."

Mike got the bottle out, shook four pills into his hand and washed them down with a large gulp of coffee. Mike leaned against the counter closing his eyes for a second.

"You look like shit, Boss."

Mike looked at his watch.

"Considering I've been up for all of about seven minutes I think I'm doing pretty well, fuck you very much."

Gibbs grinned.

"You'll probably feel better after a shower."

"Ya think, Probie? Listen, we're supposed to meet Elena and Bailey at the beach around 1130. They're bringing the food, we're bringing the beer."

Gibbs looked puzzled.

"What about work?"

"Off today, Gibbs. Long weekend."

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Since you started workin' with me."

Gibbs looked down at his feet.

"Thanks Boss."

**The Beach, Friday 1125hrs**

Mike and Jethro trudged thru the soft sand, a large cooler between them. Up ahead, closer to the water, Bailey and Elena watched from the blanket they had spread out. Amusement was clear on each woman's face.

"Hey Probie, is your fly open?"

"Hell no Boss. Yours?"

"No. I wonder what they think is so damn funny."

As they reached the blanket, the men dropped the cooler.

Mike glared at Bailey who was grinning the widest.

"What's so damn funny, Coopersmith?"

"You're both wearing the same type trunks."

It was true. Both Gibbs and Franks were wearing tan UDT swim trunks.

Mike grunted.

"I've been wearing these for years. They're the cheapest ones at the Marine Corps Exchange."

Gibbs nodded.

"Ditto."

This set Bailey off again.

"At least you wore different t-shirts."

This was also true. Gibbs was wearing a scarlet tee with a sniper in gold and the words "Reach Out And Touch Someone." Mike had on a white tee with the logo of the 1/9 Marines. The "Walking Dead".

Franks pointed at Bailey.

"Wearing the shirt you're wearing; don't even think about saying anything about ours."

Coopersmith was wearing a black tee with white script that said "Goatropers need love too".

Bailey grinned.

"My uncle in Montana sent me this shirt. He's got a sheep ranch there."

Elena stood, removing her plain white cover up, revealing a red one piece strapless suit.

"Now that we've settled the great t-shirt debate, how about some swimming?"

Mike pulled off his shirt.

"You're on."

Mike and Elena sprinted for the water, both hitting it at the same time. There was a lot of splashing and laughing followed by the two swimming towards a platform anchored about 50 yards out.

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"Whatta ya say Coop?"

"Not right now Jethro. Could you get me a beer?"

While Gibbs was digging two Buds out of the cooler, Bailey kicked off her boat shoes and pulled off her tee, under which was a white bikini.

Gibbs turned with the beers, took one look and whistled appreciatively.

"Here ya go Bailey. Whoa, what's with the tats?"

On the top of her left foot was a stylized pig; on the right was a rooster. As she popped open the beer, Bailey laughed.

"My Dad was in submarines during World War II. He told me that some of his friends had these tattoos. It's an old sailor's superstition that they would keep you from drowning. When I was in junior high, high school and college, I spent as much time in the water as on land. I was surfing, waterskiing or swimming. One night in high school a bunch of my friends decided to get tattoos. I got these. It was either them or a propeller on each butt cheek."

Gibbs blushed a little.

"Good choice on the animals."

"Yeah. Nobody'd get to see the props!"

**The Beach, 2015hrs**

It had been a good day. Sandwiches for lunch, beer to keep things loose. They'd swam played chicken and swam some more. As it got dark, the guys dug a fire pit, gathered drift wood and they roasted hot dogs.

Gibbs had gotten progressively quiet as the day wore on. He'd been staring into the fire for about fifteen minutes when he stood.

"Gonna take a walk."

Mike looked up from Elena, whose head was lying on his thigh.

"Okay, Probie."

Gibbs walked to the surf line and started going away from the fire. Bailey also watched Jethro walk away.

"Coop."

Bailey looked at Mike.

Mike inclined his chin towards the retreating Gibbs.

"I had my shot at him last night Bailey. Maybe he'll talk more to you.

Bailey nodded, grabbed two beers from the cooler and set off after Gibbs.

**Down the Beach, 2025hrs**

By the time Bailey caught up to Gibbs, he was sitting at the edge of the surf line staring out at the Pacific.

"Mind if I sit?"

Gibbs looked up.

"Never Coop. Grab a piece of beach."

Bailey smiled and dropped to the sand next to Jethro. She held out a can of beer.

"Bud?"

"Thanks. Did you draw the short straw?"

"No straws were drawn. I wouldn't be here unless I wanted to be."

"Okay, okay. Sheesh. You're definitely better to look at rather than the Boss."

Coop punched Jethro's upper arm.

"Thanks for that Gibbs. Way to make a girl feel special."

Jethro looked at Coop in mock wonder.

"You're a _girl_?"

"How'd you like to wear that beer Gibbs?"

Jethro raised his hands.

"Okay, truce?"

"Truce. What's going on?"

Gibbs sighed.

"Shannon and Kelly used to love the beach. It felt really good being out here today with you guys. But once we stopped doing stuff…"

"……you started really thinking about them."

Gibbs nodded.

"Yeah. Then I _really_ got to _missing_ them."

Bailey put her hand on Gibbs' arm.

"And that's okay. But they _would not_ want you to curl up in a ball and hide. Figuratively."

Gibbs gave a small smirk.

"Uh huh. Hiding isn't really my thing."

Coop's tone got serious.

"Jethro, I know you and Franks are tight. I also know there are gonna be times when talkin' to him may not be what you want to do. I want you to know that _I _would be willing to listen."

Gibbs smiled softly.

"Thanks, Coop. What happened to that hardass from my first day on the job?"

Coop laughed.

"Fuck up my evidence and find out, Gunny."

Gibbs put on a look of mock horror.

"I'd never do that Forensic Specialist Coopersmith."

Bailey rolled her eyes and stood.

"C'mon wiseass. Elena brought the fixin's for S'mores. Bailey wants _chocolate._"

Gibbs stood and grabbed bailey's hand.

"By all means, let's go make S'mores."

**A/N: **Okay, I'm now going to do my level best to get M E's story done. Plus I came up with another Mike/Jenny story too. I had it pointed out to me that I do "niche" writing, which may be a reason I don't garner a wider audience. Well, I've finally reconciled myself to that. So, as long as you Mike fans keep reading, I'll keep writing (and abusing my heavy bag). Oh, I almost forgot. _Pleeeeeeeeease review?_ There, I feel much better.


	18. Blown up

**Disclaimer: Place usual shit HERE**

**Authors Note:** This story is based on a request by **M E Wofford**. She wanted a Mike/Abby story based on the big hug Abby gave Franks at the beginning of "Deliverance". I honestly tried to make it work. But, no cigar. So I came up with _this _story instead. It takes place during "Hiatus (both I &II)". It's going to be a two part deal like "Birthday" & "Beach Day".

**Spoilers: **Well, Duh!

**Bethesda Naval Medical Center 0430hrs**

Retired Senior Special Agent Mike Franks hated hospitals. They were right up there with attorneys and reporters. After twenty plus years in law enforcement Mike had spent too many hours in emergency rooms and ICU's watching friends and colleagues struggle for their lives. Today was a happier day. True, his old Probie, Leroy Jethro Gibbs managed to get himself blown up. But, he was alive and relatively well. Except for the fact that to him it was 1991 again. That was a problem. Gibbs' boss NCIS Director Jennifer Shepard called Mike in Mexico. She asked if he could come to DC and try to jog Probie's memory.

So Mike got his butt on a plane. The ploy didn't work. Sure, Gibbs remembered Mike and working with him. He remembered after some prodding Mike retiring. After that nada. Oh yeah, he remembered the deaths of Shannon and Kelly.

Franks was currently smoking a cigarette on a fire escape off the rear of the hospital. Since there was nothing more he could do, Mike was flying back to Mexico this morning. Mike would talk to Gibbs one last time and head out.

Mike stuck his cigarette in a sand filled coffee can sitting on the fire escape. Towards the east he could see the first pink streaks of dawn.

**Gibbs' Room 0445hrs**

As Mike approached his Probie's room he saw a figure sitting by the head of the bed. When the individual turned Franks saw the pigtails and alabaster skin. Mike had been introduced to Gibbs' team when he first pulled in. This was Abby Sciuto the lead forensic tech. Mike chuckled to himself.

_What was it about Gibbs and female scientists?_

That thought brought back the phone call Mike made four days ago while sitting in the Ensenada airport.

**Departure Lounge Ensenada Airport 1615hrs**

Mike Franks stared down at his cell phone.

_If I don't call her, she's gonna be extremely pissed. If I do call, she's gonna want to drop everything and fly there._

Mike sighed heavily. Lose-Lose either way. He scrolled down to the number and hit Send.

"Coopersmith and Associates. How may I direct your call?"

"I'd like to speak to Bailey Coopersmith please."

"One moment. I'll connect you to her assistant."

"Ms. Coopersmith's office. May I help you?"

"I'd like to speak to her please."

"I'm sorry sir. She's meeting with a very important client. She'll be busy for about an hour. Can I take your name and number? She'll call you back when her meeting is over."

"No darlin', you can't take my name. Just tell her Mike Franks is on the line and it's about Gibbs."

"I can't do that Mr. Franks. Ms. Coopersmith left specific instructions not to be disturbed for any reason."

Mike groaned.

"Okay…?"

"Patty."

"Okay Patty, when the boss leaves instructions like that, a responsible assistant will follow them to the letter. In this case though, one hour from now, she'll get the message, I'll be on an airplane unavailable and you'll be getting an ass chewing for not putting me thru."

"I'm sorry I can't just put you thru."

"Well, just ask her yourself then. Mention my name and the name Gibbs. I promise nothing will come back on you."

"I don't know…."

"Come on Patty. Take a shot here. "

A resigned sigh came from the other end of the phone.

"If I get in trouble…."

"Trust me darlin', you won't."

"Hold on."

There was a twenty second silence.

"What the hell happened Mike? Is Jethro okay?"

"And hello to you too Bailey. Gibbs got himself blown up. He's pretty banged up. He's also having memory problems. I'm waitin' to board a flight now. I'll be there in a few hours."

"One of my clients has a jet. I can be there in a few hours too."

"No Coop. Then there'll be _two_ of us standin' around with our thumbs in our asses. I'm retired; you're runnin' a million dollar consulting business. I'll go. I promise to call as soon as I get anything solid."

"Mike….."  
"Listen Coopersmith, I'm serious. Stay put. I'll call you as soon as I get the straight skinny."

"You'd better mister. I can't leave either one of you on your own for a minute."

Franks laughed.

"Talk to ya soon Coop."

**Gibbs' Room 0446hrs**

Mike walked quietly to Jethro's bedside. Gibbs was sleeping on his back, arms straight at his sides a small frown on his face. Abby was sitting staring at Gibbs, totally oblivious to her surroundings.

"Abby" Mike said quietly. No reaction.

Franks got a little louder.

"_Abby"_

The Goth started.

"Oh, Agent Franks. Sorry, I was just…"

"Starin' at my Probie?"

"Yeah, he doesn't remember me. He doesn't remember _any _of us."

"He will Abby. Doc Gelfand said it could come back anytime."

"But what if it doesn't Agent Franks. What if he _never remembers._"

"Don't call me 'Agent Franks'. I'm retired. Call me Mike. And aren't you supposed to be in work this mornin'?"

"Ag…Mike, I don't start 'til seven thirty. I thought I'd sit with Gibbs a little before work."

"When was the last time you ate, young lady?"

"Hmmmm…"

"Then it's been too long. C'mon, there's a diner a couple blocks from here. I'm buyin' you breakfast."

"But…"

"No buts Abby. It's not like Gibbs is goin' anywhere. He'll still be here when you get back."

This comment brought a small smile to Abby's face.

"Now I see where the Bossman gets it from."

Mike rolled his eyes and held out his hand.

"C'mon, let's get some chow."

**Angie's Diner two blocks from Bethesda 0515hrs.**

They must have made an odd looking couple. A young Goth dressed woman in platform boots and an older guy in a rumpled suit. Abby was downing a 'Truckers Breakfast' while Mike was drinking coffee and smoking.

"How long did Gibbs work for you?"

"'Bout four years. Then I retired and he got his own team."

"What was he like then?"

"The Probie? He was green as grass. May have been a badass Marine sniper, but he didn't know shit from Shinola about police work."

"Hard to believe."

"He was a quick study. He developed into a great interrogator. Probably the best I've ever seen."

"He's never been sick ya know."

"What're you talkin' about Abby?"

"He's never taken a sick day since I've been at NCIS."

"Well, _that's_ sure shot to hell."

"Are you really leaving today Mike?"

"Yup. Can't do anything more for him, Abby. Time to get back. If he's awake I'll say bye and di-di."

**Gibbs' Room 0530hrs.**

Leroy Jethro Gibbs was sitting up in bed watching TV. When Mike and Abby walked in, Jethro's face brightened.

"Hey Boss. Who's the girl?"

"This is Abby Sciuto, Probie. She's your forensic tech."

Abby smiled and gave Gibbs a small wave.

"Hey Gibbs."

"Hello Abby. What're you doing here so early Boss?"

"Goin' back to Baja Gibbs. Listen, once you get outta here, come on down. You can do some work on the house and fish some. Whatta ya say?"

"Sounds good Boss, thanks."

Mike walked up to the bed and gripped Jethro by the shoulder.

"Take good care Probie."

"Thanks for coming Mike."

"See ya Probie."

As Mike was leaving the room, Abby grabbed him by the arm.

"Can I have your number in Mexico Mike?"

"Sure, but why?"

"I feel like it's gonna be important."  
"Okay Abby."

Mike got a pen from the inside pocket of his jacket and wrote his number on Abby's palm.

"See ya around kiddo."

**Carlos' Cantina two and a half months later 1630hrs.**

Mike watched as Gibbs' back retreated towards the men's room. Since coming down from DC after 'retiring', Jethro had been getting better. For the past three weeks at least once a week Mike had been getting calls from a certain forensic scientist wanting to come down and see Gibbs. Jethro seemed to have turned a corner, so Mike decided to give the go ahead.

"Hey Jose! Gimmie the phone will ya?"

"Sure Senor Mike."

Once he got the phone, he dialed the number from memory.

"Hey, it's Mike. Yup. Come on down. I'll pick you up at the airport. Call me with your flight info. See ya then."

_This should be interestin'_

_**TBC…**_

**A/N: **Well, whatta ya think? Like the previous two chapters I hadn't thought to write back to backs. It just sort of came out of my head that way. So drop a review on me. I think you're going to like the next chapter too.


	19. Put back together, sort of

**Disclaimer: Do I hafta? I do? Okay, NCIS and everything associated with it is copyrighted material that DOES NOT belong to me. I just push the pieces around in this sandbox. That is all.**

"_Now, I told that story to tell you __**this story."**_- Ron White, Blue Collar Comedy Tour

**Authors Note: **Well, I left sort of a cliffie, didn't I? So here comes the resolution of said cliffie. Hope ya like it.

**Ensenada Airport Arrivals Friday, 1045hrs.**

Mike Franks was leaning against a pillar waiting. Her flight landed about ten minutes ago so she should be along shortly. Yup, there she was, towing a wheeled carryon and carrying a large purse. Franks pushed off the pillar and walked up, grabbing the handle of the rolling carryon.

"Any checked baggage Coop?"

Bailey Coopersmith smiled.

"No Mike. I travel light and fast. You of all people should know that."

"Never hurts to check."

They walked side by side out of the terminal to Mike's truck. When they reached it Bailey stopped and stared.

"This is Gibbs' old truck!"

"Uh huh. Your point?"

"I'm surprised it's still running."

"Can't kill a Ford six cylinder engine. Just change the oil every three thousand miles and she'll run forever."

Mike hefted the carryon.

"Anything that'll break in here?"

Bailey shook her head and Mike tossed the bag into the bed of the pickup. As they left the airport Mike watched Bailey from the corner of his eye. Her hair was now shoulder length, she was still tan and still had what the kids now a day's called "a smokin' hot" figure.

"So how's business Coop?"

"Real good Mike. The bad guys are learning though. All these crime shows on TV like "CSI" have made 'em more careful. But they still screw up."

Franks grunted. When Mike retired and Gibbs took the team in DC, Bailey stayed with NCIS for two more years. Then, with a loan from her uncle in Montana, she started 'Coopersmith & Associates' with another forensic tech and a retired Oceanside PD homicide investigator. She built the business into the number six forensic consulting company in the US.

"So business is good. How are _you_?"

Bailey turned her head towards Mike slowly.

"What's _that_ supposed to mean?"

"The last time I saw you; there was a wedding ring on your left hand. It's gone. What happened?"

Coopersmith sighed.

"The same thing as the last time. It came down to him or the company. And you know how that came out."

"You okay?"

"Sure. But, I'll tell you one thing Mike. No more for me. I'll be damned if I'm gonna be a three time loser. Enough about me. How's Jethro?"

"The Probie? He's better. First month or so, he drank, walked the beach a lot and moped. Last three weeks or so he's been drinkin' less, runnin' in the mornings and workin' on my house."

Bailey's face took on a soft expression.

"Shannon and Kelly?"

"Oh, yeah. That and the whole Cape Fear thing. Gibbs said he couldn't stay in DC, he hadda get out. He's almost ready to go back though. I just can't figure a way to get him there."

"Do you think he should?"

"Hell yes Coop. He'll go nuts if he stays here. Once he runs outta shit to fix he'll be bouncing off the walls."  
Bailey laughed.

"You're probably right about that."

As they got closer to Mike's place, Franks noticed Bailey was looking nervous.

"Hey Bailey, you okay?"

No answer.

"Coop?"

Still no answer.

"_EARTH TO COOPERSMITH!"_

"Huh?"

"Glad you're back. You all right?"

"Sure. Why?"

"'Cause you were really spaced out there for a minute."

"I'm fine. It's just I haven't seen him since you guys left for Washington. Well, I did see him for about a half hour when he came back to pack up his apartment. But I was deep in a case and he left before I could really talk to him."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"I know it's none of my business, but did you guys…?"

Bailey grinned.

"You dirty old man. No we never. Not that I didn't _think_ about it. I gave him room, but then he met Ellie, so nothing ever happened. And wipe that stupid grin off your face."

"Yes Ma'am."

**Mike's house Friday, 1220hrs.**

As Mike steered down his driveway he looked at Bailey.

"I forgot to tell you. Gibbs is a little _shaggier_ then you remember him."

"Shaggier?"

"Yup"

"This I've got to see."

"Well, he's up on the roof around the back. I'll carry your shit inside."

As Mike removed Coop's carryon from the pickup's bed, Bailey walked around the back of the house and up onto the deck. She waited for the hammering to stop.

"Where can a girl get a beer around this place?"

There was the sound of movement on the roof. Leroy Jethro Gibbs' face appeared over the edge.

"Coop?"

_Holy crap he really __**is**__ shaggy. Looks good on him though._

"In the flesh."

Gibbs swung over the edge of the roof and dropped to the deck. Bailey took stock of her old friend. Gibbs was wearing cutoff shorts, a grey 'NIS' t-shirt and work boots. And Mike wasn't kidding. His hair (grayer than she would have thought) was over his ears and he had a scruffy beard. Gibbs waved a hand in front of her face.

"Hey! Take a picture, it lasts longer."

"Whoops. Sorry. How are you Jethro?"

Gibbs grinned.

"Better Coop. What're you doin' here?"

"Mike didn't tell you I was coming?"

"No. He's been acting all Boss-like the last couple of days, so I knew something was up. It's good to see ya Bailey."

"Well, I just finished up a very lucrative case and decided I needed some R&R. Plus I haven't seen you since you went to DC. And no, that half hour don't count."

"In that case, let's go find you that beer."

**Mike's house Friday, 1500hrs.**

Mike put Bailey's stuff in his room. Gibbs was in the guest room, so Mike was on the couch. Coopersmith had raised a stink, but Mike told her to put a sock in it.

So Bailey was emptying her suitcase. While doing so she saw several pictures on the wall. One was Franks with two other Marines. Another was Mike standing on a dock with a humongous tuna hanging next to him. The third one was the one that caught her eye. It was her, Mike and Gibbs at the beach. Bailey looked closer.

_Yup, it was from the day after Kelly's birthday._

"Want me to make you a copy?"

Bailey jumped.

"Goddamnit Boss, stop doing that. You could give someone a heart attack or something."

Mike laughed.

"Sorry kiddo. Force of habit. Do you want a copy?"

"Yes I do. Whatever happened between you and Elena?"

Mike sighed.

"Well, when I came back from Washington I asked her if she wanted to come down to Mexico with me. Even mentioned the "m" word. No dice. She came North when she was fourteen. Stayed with relatives, worked in sweatshops, went to school at night. Finally got her citizenship and swore never to set foot in Mexico again. She's married , got a couple of nice lookin' kids. I still get a card from her at Christmas."

"Jeez, Mike, I'm sorry…"

"Nothin' to be sorry about Coop. She was a fine woman. I'm keeping company with another one. She's a bartender at Carlos' Cantina. You two will meet sometime this weekend I'm sure."

Gibbs' voice came from the front of the house.

"HEY, we going to get something to eat or not?"

**Carlos' Cantina, Friday 2330hrs.**

Gibbs, Mike and Coop were occupying a table towards the back of the cantina. Camilla was bringing them their next round. It was the last official act of her day. She would then be joining them. The three friends had gone to supper and then adjourned to the cantina to 'hoist a few'. Camilla set four beers down and pulled up a chair.

"How did you put up with these two for as long as you did Bailey?"

"Well, I wasn't in the same office with 'em day in and day out. That helped a lot."

Mike snorted.

"Gee, and I thought you missed us when we didn't come around."

Bailey hiccupped.

"'Course I missed you guys, Boss."

Gibbs and Franks exchanged looks.

Twenty minutes later Bailey exited the cantina supported by her two friends. When the fresh air hit her, she woke up.

"Wass goin' on?"

Gibbs grinned.

"Time for beddy-bye Coop."

"No way. I'm good."

Mike snorted.

"Good? No. Toasted? Yes."

"Jus' outta practice, thass all."  
They'd reached the truck. Gibbs opened the passenger door.

"Hold her up Boss. I'll sit in the middle."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"If I sit in the middle, she'll be able to hang her head out the window to puke. If she sits in the middle, _I'm_ gonna be the one with a lap full of puke."

"I can hear you guys you know."

"Good. That means you can get in the truck right?"

With a little help from Mike, Bailey climbed aboard. Luckily the ride was uneventful. By the time they reached the house Coop was out. Gibbs managed to get her out of the truck while Mike went ahead and opened the house. Gibbs carried his friend bridal style to her room. Jethro laid her carefully down on the bed. Bailey's hazel eyes popped open and before Gibbs could stand, she wrapped her arms around his neck.

"Hi Gunny."

"Coop."

"No good night kiss?"

Gibbs moved his face up and kissed Bailey on the forehead.

"Night Coop."

Bailey's arms dropped and she mumbled something unintelligible. Mike put a trash can next to the bed and a bottle of water and some aspirin on the nightstand.

"She's gonna be in a really shitty mood in the mornin'."

**Mike's house, Saturday 2200hrs.**

Franks' prediction was correct. When Bailey finally made an appearance she was not in the best of moods. This was not helped by the glee her _alleged_ friends took in her misery. Once she was semi recovered a day at the beach ensued. The combination of swimming and sunbathing had Coop almost human by late afternoon. After a cookout supper of hotdogs and hamburgers, Bailey was pretty much back to normal. Camilla stopped in after working the early shift. Coop stuck to Diet Coke while everybody else was drinking beer.

Around nine o'clock, Mike pulled Camilla to her feet.

"Lock up when ya go to bed Probie. I'm bunkin' out tonight."

Camilla gave a lady-like snort.

"You are?"

Mike put on his best 'puppy dog' face.

"C'mon 'Milla, my back was killin' me after last night."

"You are such a baby. Come on."

Camilla pulled Mike off the deck and around the driveway side of the house. The pickup started and the engine sound faded away. Bailey stood.

"Get you another beer, Gibbs?"

"Nah Coop. I'm good."

Bailey came back with another Coke. She pulled her chair around to face Gibbs. She sat and looked at Gibbs intently.

"How are you really, Jethro?"

Gibbs sighed.

"Better than when I got here. Not as good as before I managed to get myself blown up. I've had to reprocess some things that I'd rather not have."  
Bailey nodded sympathetically.

"Shannon and Kelly."

"Uh huh. It was like it was when I first started workin' with you an' the Boss. I'm surprised Mike didn't kick my ass the first couple of weeks. I was a royal pain in the ass."

Bailey laughed.

"You mean more than usual?"

"Hey, not fair. I'm usually the soul of decorum."

Coop snorted.

"Since when? You can be the most aggravating person I've ever met."

"Okay, point taken. But I'm workin' on it."

"So, are you going to go back?"

"To DC you mean? I don't know. Part of me wants to. Part of me wants to stay here."

"You could come to work for me you know."

Now it was Gibbs' turn to snort.

"That would not end well. As you said, I can be _abrasive _at times. I don't think corporate America is ready for me."

"Well, let's make it a standing offer. If you change your mind you can just call me."

"Thanks Coop."

"Meh, not a problem. Think I'll turn in."

Bailey stood and so did Gibbs. As she turned to go, Bailey stumbled over the chair leg. Gibbs caught her by the arms. Hazel eyes met blue.

**Mike's house, Sunday 0600hrs.**

Franks let himself in quietly.

_No sense wakin' everybody up 'cause I can't sleep._

Mike went into the kitchen to start the coffeemaker. He made sure that the tone that announced that the brewing cycle was done was turned off.

_Might as well police up the empties on the deck while I'm waitin'_

As Franks passed from the kitchen to the living room, he noticed Gibbs' t-shirt on the floor.

_Okayyyyy._

Then Mike noticed a trail of clothing from the living room down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

_Oh Boy. Today should be very interesting._

**A/N: **There she is. If you were expecting Abby to show up, sorry about that. After "Beach day" I took an informal poll amongst my regulars about Coop and Gibbs hooking up. Most everybody said it was too soon after Shannon. This was my solution. Lemme know what ya think. Just tickle that little green button down yonder


	20. Give It Away

**Disclaimer: NCIS is copyrighted material that is owned by Donald P Bellisaro, Don McGill, Paramount TV, and CBS. I'm **_**not **_**making a profit from this. I **_**am **_**havin' fun writing about one of my favorite TV shows. What's the harm in that?**

**Authors Note: **I just realized some things. One, it's been a month since I've updated "El Viejo". Two, this is the twentieth chapter. Three, well I guess it's only a couple of things! Somebody asked me why I decided to write about Mike Franks. I couldn't really come up with an answer right away. But I thought about it some and here's the deal. He's old school. So am I. Once you push past the gruff, he's a softie. Me too. The best reason though, is, in the show there are enough holes in his character's story to drive plot bunnies the size of semis through. I can do that. Like his granddaughter and daughter-in-law, I'm going to be naming Mike's ex-wife. As far as I can tell the writer's haven't done it. If they did and I missed it, I'm sure _somebody_ out there will tell me.

**Spoilers: **There are none. I just made the A/N so long I moved down. We're going way back in the day. Before Gibbs was even a blip on the radar. When I did my first TIVA/songfic, **USAFChief** said he didn't recognize the artists. Then he named some country singers. I filed that away. This story is sort of based on the song "Give It Away", by George Strait. I didn't write that song or perform it. Don't sue me George. The timeline I'm using is roughly based on comments from my stories "Liam", "The Warmth of the Sun" and "Tea & No Sympathy".

"**That picture from our honeymoon **

**That night in Frisco Bay**

**Just give it away**

**She said, give it away….**

**Just give it away**

**There ain't nothin' in this house worth fightin' over**

**Oh, and we're both tired of fightin' anyway**

**So just give it away….**

…**.She flung her diamond ring **

**Said, give it away **

**Just give it away…"**

**Mike's house, 0923hrs**

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks was tired. Not 'Man it's been a long day' tired, but 'If I don't get some sleep soon, I'm gonna pass out' tired. For the past seventy two hours, Franks, along with an investigator from Marine Corps CID had been combing Tijuana Mexico for L/Cpl Fred Richard. The lance corporal went UA from his unit after what was supposed to be 'Cinderella liberty'. That was bad enough. However, when the MP's caught up with him two days later in a bar in San Ysidro, he put one in the hospital and one in the morgue. Granted he hadn't intentionally killed Corporal Sykes, but the man wound up dead nonetheless.

L/Cpl Richard beat feet into Tijuana. Enter NIS and Agent Franks. Three straight days of checking every bar, flea ridden hotel, motel and trick pad finally yielded up the good lance corporal. After booking Richard into the Camp Pendleton brig, Mike finished his paperwork and headed home.

Home was a Cape Cod on the outskirts of Oceanside about three miles from the main gate of Pendleton. Mike lived there with his wife Olivia. As Mike pulled into the driveway he took note of the height of the lawn.

_After I get some rack time, I'm gonna have to mow that._

Franks was looking forward to a shower and about twelve hours of sleep. Luckily Olivia was working at Oceanside Hospital so the house would be quiet. Also, he wouldn't have to go through the usual song and dance about why he couldn't have called or come home. These "discussions" were becoming more heated of late.

Mike unlocked the door and walked into the kitchen.

_I'll just grab a beer and hit the shower._

On the kitchen table was a picture frame. On top of that an envelope. On top of the envelope was his wife's wedding ring.

"This can't be good."

Franks moved the ring and picked up the envelope. "Michael" (she never called him Mike or Mikey) in Liv's neat cursive was on the outside. Mike looked down at the picture. It was a shot taken on the day Mike and Olivia got married in San Francisco. They were sitting side by side smiling at the camera. The picture was taken by the photographer in the Fisherman's Wharf restaurant they'd gone to after getting married. It was a civil ceremony in front of a Justice of the Peace. Olivia hadn't wanted a big wedding or any fuss. Both her parents had passed and she was an only child. Mike didn't care one way or the other, so they'd gone the JP route.

Mike pulled a balisong knife from his pocket. He flipped it open and slit the envelope. A folded piece of cream colored stationary fell out. Mike unfolded it, knowing pretty much what it was going to say.

_Michael:_

_I've told you that I would try to get used to the life of an NIS agent. I can't. I had this silly idea you'd come home every night. I'd make a nice dinner and you'd tell me all about your day. The reality is when you're on a case you _don't _come home. You _don't _talk about your day. I know it's to shield me from the ugliness you have to deal with, but it still hurts. What really scares me is the thought of you_ not _coming home. That one day there will be a knock on the door. The SAC will be standing there with 'that look' on his face and a Navy chaplain in the background. I thought I could handle this. I can't._

_So, I've decided to go back to San Francisco I'll be able to get my old job back. One of my friends recommended an attorney I'll be using. He should be in touch with you next week. I don't really want anything, but Aimee says it's the way it's done. Please don't come up to San Francisco. I want to make a clean break. If you come up…_

_Good bye Michael,_

_Liv_

Mike dropped the letter, looked up at the ceiling for a couple of seconds. Then he headed for the cabinet in the living room where he kept the Jameson. Beer just wasn't going to cut it.

**One month later, NIS squad room, Camp Pendleton 1000hrs**

Mike Franks was sitting at his desk reading the preliminary copy of his divorce decree. While Liv may not have wanted anything, her scum sucking attorney had no such scruples. Mike was prepared to split the profit from the house and its contents. This guy was gunning for the whole ball of wax plus.

"What'ca readin' Mike?"

Franks looked up into the expectant face of Special Agent John Bailey. Bailey was a retired Marine MP Investigator and twice divorced.

"Bad news, John."

Bailey smiled motioning to the envelope on Mike's desk.

"Either somebody died or you're getting a divorce. From the look on your face it could be either one."

"Divorce."

"Hey, my specialty. Lemme see."

Mike contemplated for a couple of seconds.

_Ah, what the hell. Sort of a second opinion._

Franks handed over the paperwork. After a couple of minutes, John whistled appreciatively.

"This guy's almost as good as the shark my second wife hired. You gonna sit still for this?"

Taking back the papers, Mike said, "No John, I'm not.

After six months of back and forth between attorneys, Mike was divorced and poorer.

**Picnic area, base housing, Camp Pendleton, June 10, 1990 1330hrs**

Mike Franks was sipping a beer and trying to figure out again why he'd come to the annual civilian employee picnic. Oh yeah. Boredom. He'd been sitting around his apartment doing nothing when he'd remembered the picnic.

_So here I am drinking and being bored outside. God, I'm pathetic._

Mike was leaning against a tree watching two teams of half drunken guys and gals trying to play softball. Movement from his left attracted his attention. A woman wearing shorts and a scarlet and gold "Camp Pendleton" t-shirt was heading towards the bleachers. She was about five foot seven with straight raven black hair. She looked familiar, but Mike couldn't place her.

Franks pushed off the tree and intercepted her halfway to the bleachers. When she became aware of his approach she smiled.

"Hello Agent Franks. How are you?"

Then it clicked for Mike. He'd gone over to the Finance Office because the overtime in his check had been screwed up. She'd helped him out. Elena Lopez.

"Ms. Lopez. I'm well, thanks."

"Please, call me Elena."

Mike grinned.

"Then, by all means, call me Mike."

**A/N: **This was another one of those stories that just came pouring out. I'm not sure if it's up to my usual standard. But, that's what makes life interesting. So how about letting me know how I did? C'mon you know you want to. Click on the balloon (I liked the green button better).


	21. zurdo

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the intellectual property of its copyright owners. However, after watching "Rule 51" I think I could **_**write **_**a better story. See my rant below.**

**Spoilers: **I usually put his after my Authors Note. Today I'm putting it here 'cause I'm goin' to be ranting about the finale. So if you haven't seen "Rule 51" yet, you might want to skip my rant and/or my Authors Note. Hell, if you don't want to hear about the finale at all you may want to skip the whole story!

**Rant:** Okay, overall I enjoyed "Rule 51". That being said, I was _totally _**unhappy **with how they treated my favorite character. Shooting off the trigger finger of his right hand! _PUHLEEEESE_. Then to compound _that_, they give Muse Watson the most ridiculous line I've ever heard in my entire life. "I can still pull the trigger with my thumb". OMAB! (**O**h **M**y **A**chin' **B**ack). No you can't Mister Writer Man. Right now I want you to go to your kid's toy chest. Pull out his cap gun, or whatever faux firearm he or she may have. Grip said firearm and _try_ to even come close to the trigger or trigger guard. **IT'S NOT HAPPENING.** You probably could use your _middle finger_, but even that might not supply a secure enough grip to use a .45. Whew! I feel much better now.

**Authors Note: **Keeping in mind the above, the following is my take on how things will play out at the beginning of Season 8. I hope you enjoy it. Like most of my stories it came on me when I was doing something totally unrelated to writing.

**zurdo** is Spanish for "lefty".

**Mike's house, Present day, 1430hrs**

_It was damned inconvenient._

Mike Franks looked down at the disassembled .45 lying on a towel on his kitchen table. After the dust settled from this latest drama involving his Probie, Mike made a trip to San Diego. He went to visit a custom gunsmith he knew. Frank Post specialized in 1911A1 conversions. So Mike took his .45 to Frank for some needed modifications. A new slide with the ejection port on the left side, an ambidextrous safety, and a magazine release button on the right side. The grip safety was already deactivated.

The inconvenient part was the disassembly and reassembly of the weapon. Mike was still getting used to life without his right index finger. It made things awkward. He was still training himself to pick up certain things with his left hand rather than his right. Franks took a deep breath trying to center himself. The smell of Hoppe's No. 9 solvent and gun oil invaded his nostrils, helping in the calming process. Cleaning weapons, especially after a good practice session always felt good. Mike ran another 200 rounds through his .45 today. Muscle memory was a bitch. For the past two weeks Mike relearned how to shoot. His left hand was finally cooperating. Now he was reasonably certain he wouldn't be a threat to himself or others if he was involved in an armed confrontation. His left hand, arm and shoulder were sore, but a good sore. He chuckled a little to himself. Camilla called him 'zurdo' now at every opportunity. At first Mike had been pissed. He soon realized that it was Camilla's way of helping him come to terms with the loss of his finger.

Thinking of Camilla reminded him of his girls. They were still staying with Harry Kearns, his old platoon leader from Vietnam. Amaya and Hope would be back next week.

Franks heard a creak from the back deck floorboards. He was seated at his kitchen table facing the back door. Mike dropped his right hand to his lap, keeping his left on the table.

_Don't need a trigger finger for this._

Franks was surprised when a knock sounded.

"Enter."

The back door swung open and Leroy Jethro Gibbs stepped in closing the door behind him.

"Afternoon Mike."

"Jethro."

Gibbs took in the disassembled .45 and the fact that Franks' _left_ hand was on the table. A small smile played on his lips.

"What's under the table?"

Mike grinned and said laconically "Sawed off."

Hanging from two brackets under the table was Mike's sawed off shotgun. Franks raised an eyebrow.

"I take it since you're here everything is squared away?"

"Oh yeah."

"Paloma?"

Gibbs grinned wolfishly

"Don't know when she was more surprised. When I stepped out of my dad's back room, or when I put two in her chest."

"Gonna be any comeback with that?"

"Nah. She had a Star .380 in her purse. By the time Ed got there, it was in her hand."

"Is your dad good with all that?"

"Not at first, but he's come around. How about Alejandro?"

Franks gave his own wolfish grin.

"An acute case of 'lead poisoning'. When they found his body, there was an envelope next to it detailing his real family history and past transgressions."

Gibbs nodded and looked around the kitchen.

"The place looks good as new."

"Yeah, it came out nice. What the insurance didn't cover, Leon picked up with money from his 'black' budget."

Gibbs raised an eyebrow.

"For 'services rendered'" said Mike pokerfaced.

"Still no hot tub" said Gibbs.

"Oh no Probie, you still owe me that. I intend to collect."

"Whenever you say, Boss."

"Don't worry, I'll tell ya when. Let me get 'Baby' back together and we'll go to Carlos' for a beer or ten."

Gibbs watched as his former mentor reassembled the .45.

_Not too much fumbling. He must have been practicing a lot._

"Where are the girls?"

"Still 'visiting' Harry Kearns. Be back next week. Say, whatever happened to the Hernandez file?"

Gibbs smirked.

"Funny about that. M Allison Hart came to my house with it. Then all the stuff about Alejandro came out and the Mexican government seemed to lose interest in it."

"What happened to 'Rule 13'?"

Gibbs laughed.

"Sometimes exceptions are made."

Mike slapped the clip into his reassembled .45 and jacked a round into the chamber. Then he dropped the clip and added a loose round that was on the table. He replaced the clip and stood. Mike slipped the .45 under his guayabera shirt on the left side.

"Let's get that beer, Probie."

**Carlos' Cantina 1710hrs**

Gibbs and Franks drank for several hours. The time passed quickly. They talked not about the past couple of months, but of years past. As usual when the b. starts between cops, only the good times were remembered. The duo was sitting so they could see the front door of the bar. So, when the guy in the Brooks Brothers suit came in, hesitating when his eyes took time to adjust, Mike recognized him immediately.

"Well, well, well."

"Who is it Mike?"

"That Probie is Peter Alan Frantz. Attorney for the Reynosa cartel."

"He looks like the guy from Hogan's Heroes, whatshisname, Bob Crane."

Frantz's eyes must have adjusted, because he nodded to Mike and Jethro and came around the bar.

"Mr. Franks, Agent Gibbs, my name is…."

"….Peter Alan Frantz, lawyer to drug dealers." said Mike.

"Gentlemen, I have something I wish to discuss with you. Do you think we could move to a table?"

Mike stood.

"Sure Petey. I'd _love_ to hear your little spiel."

The three men moved to a table towards the rear of the cantina. They ordered a round of drinks. After they were delivered, Frantz cleared his throat.

"I've been charged by the new, ah, _principals_ to deliver a message to you gentlemen."

Mike smiled with no indication of warmth.

"And what might that message be, Petey?"

"First, let me say that Paloma Reynosa's obsession with punishing Agent Gibbs was very bad for business. It attracted unwanted attention to our enterprise. It exposed and eliminated one of our best assets. By allying herself with Col. Bell and using his people to kill Agent Macy and attempt to kill Mr. Franks and his family she neglected her responsibilities. Her demise while unfortunate is not something my principals wish to avenge."

"So you're sayin' Gibbs and I are getting a pass?"  
"Just so. Much like the death of Agent Gibbs' family, this latest incident would never have been allowed if brought before _all_ those tasked with running things."

Gibbs rolled his eyes.

"I'm _so glad_ these things are decided by cooler heads."

Mike looked thoughtful.

"So Petey, we don't have to keep looking over our shoulders now?"

"Correct Mr. Franks. You two are no longer of any interest to my principals. I wish you good day gentlemen."

With that Peter Alan Frantz got up and left the cantina. Mike looked at his Probie and gave him a lopsided grin.

"Well, I for one am _very _relieved that's over."

Gibbs burst out laughing.

"Amen, deacon. Let's get back to the business at hand. It's your round, I believe."

**A/N: **So that's my take on where _I_ think things should go Episode 1 Season 8. What do _you_ think? Puncture the balloon thingee and let me know.


	22. Love the One You're With

**Disclaimer: The below fanfiction , while based on the show NCIS is not in any way, shape, or form being used to make a profit. NCIS is copyrighted material and what I write is not for profit.**

**Author's Note:** Bet you all thought I stopped writing. Nope. June and the first part of July have been busy in the RW. Saw my oldest, who's in Army ROTC graduate from the Basic Airborne Course at Ft. Benning, went to FL after that for vacation. This story was inspired by none other than my literary Jiminy Cricket, **M E Wofford**. At the end of "Give It Away" I showed how my OC Elena Lopez and Mike met. Naturally M E wanted _more._ Here it is M E! Also **alix33** thought that John Bailey sounded "muy in-te-res-ting" in her humble opinion, so I fleshed him out a little. Oh yeah, and after "Murder Most Foul", I tried my hand at a fic for the show "Justified". I said that I was going to spend the summer, "back in the day" with Mike Franks in response to how the writers treated him in the season finale. This is my first effort at that. This story like "Give It Away" is BG (**B**efore **G**ibbs). After all "El Viejo" _is _about the Boss's Boss! I'm a little rusty I think, so feel free to be as constructively critical as you'd like. Enjoy.

**Spoilers: **None really. If you are new to this story, you could read "Beer and Memories" for a full description of the Code Four Lounge. Also even though I'm fleshing him out, you could take a look at the first chapter of "Murder Most Foul" to see what happens to SA John Bailey.

**picnic area; base housing, Camp Pendleton CA, Sunday June 10, 1990 1330hrs**

Since his divorce Special Agent Mike Franks did what a lot of divorced guys do. He swore off women. Then he chased anything that wore a skirt and had a pulse. Now he was looking to find someone. Preferably someone who would put up with him for more than a couple of weeks. Mike wasn't looking when he went to the annual civilian employee picnic. Truth be told he'd been sitting in his apartment bored out of his skull. So when he got to the picnic, he wandered around drinking beer. When he ran into Elena Lopez near the softball field, Franks thought his luck might be changing. Elena was 5'7" with long straight raven black hair and deep black eyes. She worked in the Finance Office on post and helped Mike out when his paycheck was screwed up.

They'd reintroduced themselves and got on a first name basis. Elena was going to sit on the bleachers and watch a friend play in the pickup softball game Mike was watching, so Mike tagged along.

_Hope the 'friend' isn't male._

The game was moving along slowly 'cause most of the players were half in the bag.

"Who's your friend?" asked Mike.

"That's her playing left field. Her name is Jill. You?"

Mike scanned both teams and grinned.

"Yeah, looks like the guy comin' up to bat is from my office. John Bailey."

They watched as Mike's fellow agent approached the plate. John Bailey looked exactly like what he was, an off duty cop. Six two, about one eighty, with short curly black hair. Bailey was ten years older than Mike and came to NIS after being a Marine MP Investigator. He was eight months from retirement.

John struck out ending the game. As he walked away from the plate, he saw Mike and waved. Mike waved back and John started walking over after gathering up his glove and can of beer. Meanwhile, Elena's friend Jill came jogging over. Jill Hadley was a short slightly stocky red head with sea green eyes and a dusting of freckles across the bridge of her nose. Her pace slowed and a grin came over her face when she saw Mike sitting next to Elena.

"Hey 'lena, where'd you find your friend?"

"We ran into each other on the way here. Mike Franks, Jill Hadley."

"Nice to meet you Jill."

"Same here Mike."

While the introductions were being taken care of, John Bailey walked up, his brown eyes sizing up the situation.

"Mikey, didn't expect to see you here. And who are these charming young ladies?"

Mike smiled and scooted over an inch or so towards Elena. A move not lost on John Bailey.

"Elena Lopez, Jill Hadley, John Bailey, NIS agent extraordinaire".

Bailey smiled and nodded hello.

"Ladies, the pleasure is all mine. So Mike, since you're here, how about buying a buddy a beer or ten?"

"Broke again John?"

"Hey, two ex-wives. Whatta you think?"

Mike sighed mock dramatically.

"Yeah, broke again."

John's face brightened.

"Say, would you ladies care to join us? We could grab some burgers at the Code Four."

Elena's brow knitted.

"The Code Four?"

Mike spoke up.

"Yeah, it's a bar in Oceanside. Pretty good cheeseburgers."

The two women looked at each other, sharing that unspoken communication that only women seem to have. Elena nodded.

"We'd love to."

**The Code Four Lounge, Oceanside, CA 1530hrs**

Since Elena and Jill came together and Mike and John came separately, Elena was driven home by Mike. They were all going to get cleaned up and reconvene at the Code Four Lounge. It turned out that Elena's apartment complex was only a quarter of a mile from Mike's.

"Thanks for the ride home, Mike. Jill is going to pick me up and we'll meet you guys at the bar."

"No hay problema, tuve el placer."

Elena started a bit and switched to Spanish.

"_Your Spanish is pretty good."_

"_Thanks, I'm okay as long as you don't talk too fast or too technical."_

Elena grinned and switched back to English.

"I'll try and remember that. See you later."

Elena exited the car and walked into her building. Mike admired the rear view all the way.

After going home and showering, Mike met John Bailey at the Code Four. The two men were half an hour early so they sat at the bar drinking beer.

"So how's Jill?"

John grinned.

"Feisty. The red hair is a dead giveaway. She's 100% Irish and I'll bet she's got the temper to match. I'm in looove."

"C'mon John. You say that every time a young lovely comes waltzing into your life."

"Ah Mikey me lad, this is different. She and I share an ethnic bond. I'm Scots-Irish ya know."

"Yeah, I know. Ya tell me the same thing every St. Patty's Day. Usually before ya try and hit me up for drinks."

John opened his mouth to mount his rebuttal when the door to the bar opened and Elena and Jill walked in. John's rebuttal died stillborn and instead a whistle of appreciation came out, audible to the two girls. Jill blushed furiously, but Elena just rolled her eyes.

_Got a sense of humor at least,_ thought Mike.

Elena was wearing a red scoop neck blouse with black skinny jeans and Jill had on a green tank top and Levi's. The four repaired to one of the booths lining the walls of the Code Four. They ordered cheeseburgers and more beer. While waiting for the food the picnic was the main topic of conversation. John Bailey supplied his take on the softball game with Jill chiming in. She laughed appreciatively in the right spots. When a slow song came on the jukebox, John grabbed her wrist and pulled her onto the dance floor. Mike and Elena watched the couple dance.

Mike sighed.

"Hopefully John hasn't just met future ex-wife number three."

Elena arched an eyebrow.

"Does he fall that easily?"

"Our John is Scots-Irish. He's a born romantic. And he's got a roving eye. Which is why _I'm _buying the beer."

Elena laughed.

"Well, Jill can hold her own, so stop worrying. Mike, where did you learn your Spanish?"

Mike took a sip of beer.

"Well, I've always liked all things Mexican. The country, the beer, the food and…"

At this point Mike gave his best Groucho Marx leer.

"…especially the ladies. So, when I had the chance, after my probationary period to work in Latin America, I took it. Worked in Panama, Columbia and Honduras. When I had to come back to the States, I volunteered for Camp Pendleton 'cause it was close to the Mexican border. How about you? Were you born here?"

"No Mike, I came over the border when I was fourteen. Stayed with my aunt and uncle in LA. Worked under the table in sweat shops until I got my status straightened out. Then I got a GED and a degree in accounting. I'll never ever go back to Mexico."

Mike was surprised by the vehemence in Elena's voice.

_Life in old Mexico must have sucked._

"Sorry to dredge up bad memories."

"It's alright Mike. Want to dance?"

"Be my pleasure darlin'."

They joined John and Jill on the dance floor until the food came. After eating the couples went their separate ways. John and Jill decided to go to Jill's and drop off her car. Mike and Elena decided to stay at the Code Four.

"See ya in work tomorrow Mikey. G'night Elena."

"Goodbye John. It was nice to meet you. See you tomorrow Jill."

Jill smiled and grabbed John's arm as they walked out of the Code Four.

**Elena's apartment, 2330hrs**

Mike and Elena stayed at the Code Four for a couple of more hours after John and Jill left. Mike suggested dinner and Elena decided since Mike liked Mexican food, she'd cook for him. They stopped at a Mexican grocery store on the way back to Elena's. Elena picked up a few extra things she needed, and started cooking as soon as they were in her apartment. She shooed Mike from the kitchen, so he started watching a Padres game on the TV. After about a half an hour the smells from the kitchen became too much to bear and Mike had to find out what they were going to have for dinner. He eased into the kitchen watching Elena bustle around.

"Damn woman, something smells really good."

Elena jumped about six inches into the air and shrieked.

"MIKE, you damn near gave me a heart attack!"

Franks gave her a sheepish grin.

"Gotta walk quiet in my line. Didn't mean to scare ya."

"Well you did. Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

"What are we having?"

"_Chile rellano _stuffed with diced pork, onions and rice, and chicken _empanadas._"

"Sounds really good. I'll get out of your way."

Dinner _was _really good and afterward Mike and Elena sat and talked for a few hours. Early on they decided to speak in Spanish so Mike's understanding and usage would improve. Mike finally looked at his watch. He sighed and switched back to English.

"Much as I'd like to stay, tonight's a "school night" and I gotta get going."

Elena looked confused.

"School night?"

Mike laughed.

"Yeah, work tomorrow so no staying up late. Kinda like when you were in school and hadda go to bed early to be ready for school."

Mike stood and for a second a look of both relief and regret crossed Elena's face. Anybody else would have missed it but Mike's senses honed by hundreds of interrogations picked it right up. Elena stood and walked Mike to the door.

"I had a great time today Elena. Can we do this again?"

"Of course Miguel. Here's my number. I too had a wonderful time."

They were standing inches apart and Mike still doesn't know who leaned in first but they had a brief intense kiss that held the promise of things to come.

"_Adios hermosa."_

"_Siempre guapo."_

Mike whistled to himself as he walked out of Elena's building. He got in his car and started it up. When the radio came on, Stephen Stills' hit from 1970, "Love the One You're With" was playing.

"_**Don't be angry, don't be sad, and don't sit cryin' over good times you've had. There's a girl right next to you, and she's just waitin' for something to do…."**_

Mike sang along as he drove back to his apartment.

**A/N: **This went a little longer than I really wanted to go, but my muse had the bit in her teeth and just kept running. And before _certain parties_ even ask, I'm going to continue this for a few more chapters. Mike's relationship with Elena is going to progress and John Bailey will also be around. So let me know how you're liking Mike _**B G**_. Please review__


	23. Story Time

**Disclaimer: NCIS does not belong to me. If it did, Mike Franks would still have his right trigger finger and the writer who came up with that lame plot device would be looking for other ways to make a living.**

**Authors Note: **I know, I know, I'm supposed to be fleshing out Mike and Elena's relationship. Thinking about that got me to thinking about my OC John Bailey. _That _got me to thinking about my other OC Special Agent Brett Place. So this story popped into my head. It sort of fits into my "back in the day" theme. Hope you enjoy it.

**Spoilers: **None for the show, but you could look at my story "Murder Most Foul" to become acquainted with SA Brett Place.

**NIS sedan, Oceanside CA, Tuesday, March 12 1991 1923hrs**

NIS Special Agents Mike Franks and Brett Place were surveilling a house waiting for Diego Reyes to come home. Reyes was a member of Pedro Hernandez's drug 'crew'. Hernandez was wanted for the murders of NIS Special Agent John Bailey and Shannon and Kelly Gibbs. If Reyes showed up, the two agents would scoop him up, take him to NIS and try and squeeze some info on Hernandez's whereabouts out of him. They were in hour four of their vigil and the conversation and word game playing had dried up, leaving both men to their own thoughts. Brett Place was the first to break the silence, sighing dramatically.

"I'm bored Daddy. Tell me a story."  
Mike Franks chuckled.

"Careful there Junior. I'm just old enough to _be _your Daddy."

Place snorted.

"I think my Mom has better taste than that."

Mike squinted at Place, taking in his facial features.

"Oh really. I don't know Brett, I sorta see a little resemblance around the eyes maybe."

Place started to splutter and Mike laughed.

"Easy Brett. Just yankin' your chain."

Place calmed down and another period of silence ensued. They both continued to stare at the house, wishing they could start the car and turn on the air conditioning. Finally Place spoke again.

"I was talking to Tom Walsh the other day. He said you were involved in a big gunfight once."

Mike turned his head slowly in Brett's direction.

"Did he now. And what pray tell did he say about this gunfight?"

"Not much. Just that it was early in your career and it was the talk of the agency at the time."

"Tom Walsh should learn to keep his mouth shut."

"Hey Mike, sorry I brought it up. Didn't know it would piss ya off."

"Nah, its okay Junior. I just don't talk about it much. It happened 'cause I went wildcattin' off on my own and shouldn't have. It wasn't one of my better decisions. But, since we have the time, it is a good story…"

**El Cubo de Sangre Café, off the Avenue Bolivar, Colon, Panama, Wednesday, August 19, 1981 1535hrs**

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks was waiting for an informant. Francisco Herrera was his name. He allegedly was going to give Mike information linking Major Manuel Noriega of the Panamanian Defense Forces to the Medellin Cartel. Since being assigned to the small NIS office at the old Coco Solo Submarine Base in late '79, Mike heard rumors that Noriega was in bed with the cartel**. **Trying to nail it down became something that Mike did between cases. There was a lot of time between cases. After the _Torrijos-Carter Treaties_ took effect in October of 1979 the Navy was drawing down in Panama. Mike hadn't worked a significant job in weeks, which gave him plenty of time for his 'hobby'. His investigation, if you wanted to call it that was not without its share of drama. The SAC an old 'hairbag' was close to retirement and didn't want some young buck rocking his boat. Add to that some snooty Third Secretary from the US Embassy showing up in front of Mike's desk making veiled threats. With a little discreet digging, Franks found out the guy was a CIA officer. Mike was still trying to make sense of a Noriega-cartel-CIA triangle.

So Mike was sitting at the rear of a cruddy bar, back to a wall nursing a Soberana beer, hoping his guy would show. Over the last twenty minutes people started drifting out of the bar to start their _siesta_. Herrera was ten minutes late. Tradecraft dictated if your contact was this late it was time to go.

_I'll give him five more minutes, then di-di._

As the seconds ticked away, three guys entered. They walked up to the bar and ordered beer. Two were wearing guayabera shirts. The third was wearing a white linen suit like Mike's. Franks' antenna went up and he started to carefully look around without moving his head. The table were Mike was seated was one of several scattered towards the back of the bar. To Mike's right was a corridor that led to the single bathroom and back door of the bar. The three newcomers sipped their beers and looked everywhere but at Mike. Franks contemplated a poster showing the smiling face of Panama's latest Maximum Leader, _Coronel_ Florencio Flores Aguilar.

_Damn I want a cigarette._

Using his left hand, Mike fished out his smokes and lit one. He glanced at his watch and saw five minutes was up.

_Time's up Mikey. Let's make like a tree._

Franks' plan was to go down the corridor like he was going to the head. In reality he would duck out the back door go down the alley to the next street over and try to lose himself in the pre-siesta crowd. At least that was the plan.

Mike stood and took one step to his right. The three men at the bar drew weapons, causing the bartender and the three remaining patrons to duck for cover. The two wearing guayabera shirts came up with semi-autos. The one in the suit pulled a pistol gripped sawed off shotgun from under his jacket and shouted, _"Matar al hijo de puta"_

Mike tipped over his table and ducked down behind it, drawing his Colt Python from its shoulder rig. A hail of pistol rounds and a load of buckshot struck the table top. Luckily the the top was thick enough to stop the lead.

_The difference between cover and concealment. It won't last long though._

Being overconfident in their numbers and firepower, the three hadn't taken cover. Mike rolled out from the left side of the table and put two rounds into the shot gunner. Blood blossomed on the front of the white suit and the other barrel of the shotgun discharged into the floor. As Mike rolled back, more pistol rounds hit the table and whined past where Mike had been. Franks then popped up over the top of the table catching one gunman in a magazine change and the other aiming at the first place Mike popped out from. Each received one round from Mike's Python. Franks dropped down; hitting the cylinder release and breaking open the pistol. He smacked the extractor rod causing the empties to drop out. Mike grabbed an HKS speed loader off his belt and was loading when another thug came around the corner of the corridor raising a pistol and smiling evilly…..

**NIS sedan**

Brett Place's eyes widened and he drew a sharp breath.

"Don't stop now. What the hell happened?"

Looking deadpan, Mike said, "I died."

"_WHAAT!"_

Mike guffawed.

"Yankin' your chain again. I dropped everything, grabbed my backup off my ankle and shot the shit out of him."

"Then what happened?"

"The Panamanian cops showed up. There was some drama about me wasting four of their citizens. It eventually got straightened out and they let me go back to Coco Solo."

"What happened to the informant?"

"Dunno. I never saw him again. I think they just ran him in to set me up. The SAC was madder than a wet hen. Two days later I was on the way to Honduras. Never went back to Panama."

Place blew out a breath.

"Man that was something. Four against one."

"Yeah, but it never should have happened Junior. I should have brought another guy along and should have let the office know where I was going to be. There's bold, and then there's stupid. I was stupid that day and got away with one."

Mike lit a cigarette and turned back to the target house.

"Story time's over Junior. Back to work."

**A/N: **So, another "back in the day" fic. Let me know how you think I did. C'mon, you know you want to.


	24. Doom On You

**Disclaimer: I'm sooooo tired of doing this. No Disclaimer for you! We all know there's no profit being made.**

**Authors Note: **You have **ThisLife 103.7** to thank for this story. When he reviews, he always leaves me a bunch of questions that I do my best to answer. One of his questions was "How long has Mike had his Colt?" Well, I answered that question In "Malfunctions". Since Vietnam. But, I got to thinking (dangerous _I_ know), how did he acquire it? That's what this story is about. As you can see I'm still in "back in the day" mode. Gonna be here for a while I fear.

**Background: **Since Mike Franks retired from NCIS in 1996(with his full 20, I guess), that means he came on board in 1976(the same year Gibbs joined the USMC). NIS/NCIS didn't start sending its agents to FLETC for standardized training until 1984. So in my mind that means they didn't have a standard weapon until at least that time (hey, it's my sandbox), so each individual agent could carry a personal weapon. Once 1984 rolled around the standard weapon came into play and older agents were 'grandfathered' in with their personal weapons. These would phase out as agents retired or were 'encouraged' to adopt the standard weapon (See' Malfunctions'). That's why Mike is carrying the Colt Python in my stories, that and I'm partial to wheelguns.

**Technical Terms: **There are going to be a few-

**Three Heart Rule- **In Vietnam, if you were awarded three Purple Hearts you were _supposed _to be taken out of the bush. Worked better in theory than in practice.

**Tour of Duty- **For the Army it was 12 months. For the Marines it was 13. You could extend your tour for six months and thus leave the service earlier.

**Huey- **Bell UH-1 helicopter.

**PRC-25- P**ortable **R**adio **C**ommunications, Model **25. **Backpack portable FM receiver-transmitter with a range of approximately 5-10 klicks. Called the 'Prick-25' by Marines.

**Sin loi- **GI corruption of the Vietnamese phrase 'xin loi'. It means 'sorry about that'. Usually said in a sarcastic way.

**The Arizona Territory, South & West of Da Nang, RVN 1969**

Staff Sergeant Mike Franks USMC was tired. Charlie Company, 1/9 Marines was on the return leg of a hump into the Arizona Territory. South and West of Da Nang 'the Arizona' was a bitch. Home to hardcore VC, it meant that Charlie Co. had been in contact every day of the two weeks they'd been out. Sniper fire, booby traps and ambushes were a daily occurrence. Several days back the VC had hit them while they were laagered up in their over nite position. The attack lasted from 0300 until almost 0900. Now they were a day away from Liberty Bridge. Once across the Song Thu Bon River it was an easy walk to An Hoa Combat Base.

The company was currently on a fifteen minute rest. Franks was glad they'd stopped. His leg was giving him fits. Three months ago he'd been wounded in the right thigh, earning his third Purple Heart. This was his first patrol since coming back from the naval hospital in Da Nang.

_I'm outta shape for humpin'. One more day ta go._

Mike checked his watch. They should have been up and moving five minutes ago. Something must be up. 'Chip' Thomas, the platoon RTO nodded his head and said "Roger that" into his handset.

"Hey El-tee, the Skipper wants you."

First Lieutenant Harry Kearns looked up from his map.

"Okay Chip. Mike, get 'em ready to move. I'll go find out what's up."

"Aye, Aye Harry."

As Kearns moved off, Mike stood groaning.

_Goddamn leg._

"What's the matter Pops? Old age getting' to ya?"

Mike glared at Chip.

"Doom on you Thomas. I'm only three years older'n you."

Chip laughed.

"Yeah, but I'm better lookin'."

Franks walked away up the trail rolling his eyes. After making sure the platoon was ready to go, Mike returned to where Chip was sitting with the radio. Harry was back with "the word".

"An Army Huey on a logistics flight got knocked down by ground fire about two klicks from here on the other side of Nam An Two. We're the closest unit, so we've gotta go get the crew 'fore Charlie does. We're leadin' out on point. Let's get 'em moving."

With that, Third Platoon got on the trail to Nam An 2. After an hour the company stopped for a ten minute break. Mike thought the whole process was taking too long. He turned to his platoon leader.

"Harry, why not let me take a squad with just weapons and ammo on ahead. We'll move faster than the company."

Lt. Kearns mulled over the proposition.

"All right Mike, I'll get the Skipper on the hook and see what he says."

Kearns grabbed the handset of the platoon's PRC-25 from Chip and started speaking. As Kearns was talking, Mike went over his options. He settled on 2nd Squad. They had the best point man in the company. Harry came back to Franks.

"The old man says okay. He's sending an RTO and an M-60 team. Once they get here you can take off."

"Thanks Harry."

Mike turned and faced up the trail, raising his voice.

"**Second Squad, on me. Hustle it up!"**

Once the squad gathered, Mike spoke.

"Drop your rucks, weapons and ammo only. We're gonna make a speed run to get that Army chopper crew."

As Franks finished speaking the M-60 team and the RTO arrived. The RTO looked very unhappy.

"What's the matter Harmon? Don't you wanta take a nice walk in the woods?"

"No Staff Sergeant I don't. The Skipper didn't give me any choice though."

"Sin loi, PFC. Okay, saddle up we're movin'"

Mike and second squad double timed it away from the company. After ten minutes Franks slowed the pace to let the point get farther ahead. When the group was a klick away from Nam Am 2, Mike called a halt and gathered the squad.

"We're not gonna continue on this trail. Sure as shit there's probably an ambush up ahead."

Mike looked at his point man.

"Find us a side trail an' we'll go around the villie."

L/Cpl. Wright nodded and moved off. After about one hundred yards the point stepped off into a smaller side trail. The squad moved cautiously down this narrower trail taking care to remain very quiet.

After twenty minutes L/Cpl. Wright raised his fist stopping the squad. Mike moved up and saw they were at the edge of a clearing the size of half a football field. It was dotted with shell and bomb craters. Towards the center was the Army chopper lying on its left side. Off to one side Franks could see men in a crater. Mike motioned for the RTO to come up.

"Put me on their freq."

Harmon fiddled with the PRC-25's dials.

"Okay Sarge, you're on."  
Mike keyed the handset.

"Dragonfly Two Zero this is Blackrook Three Two, over."

"Blackrook 3-2 this is Dragonfly 2-0 go ahead."

"Dragonfly we're in the tree line at your eleven o'clock, I am popping smoke, over."  
"Roger Blackrook, go ahead."

Franks took a smoke grenade off his harness, pulled the pin, and underhanded the grenade into the clearing. Purple smoke billowed.

"Blackrook I see 'Goofy Grape ' smoke, over. "

Roger that Dragonfly we're coming in, out."

The squad double timed it across the clearing to the chopper crew. Upon arriving Mike looked into the hole. One of the crew was lying in the bottom of the hole his left leg splinted at the knee. Another was manning an M-60 that used to be one of the door guns. The third crewman was sitting with the injured man. The fourth flyer approached Mike sticking out his hand.

"Warrant Officer Jerry Niles. Man, I never thought I'd be so happy to see a bunch of Marines."

Mike shook Niles' hand.

"Staff Sergeant Mike Franks, Mister Niles. What happened to the Lieutenant?"

"When we crashed the left front smacked into the ground first. Lt. Pierce's leg got caught between the fuselage and the instrument panel. His knee is pretty screwed up."

Mike frowned.

"My company is still a couple klicks back. Maybe we should call for a Medevac instead of waiting."

While he was speaking Franks noticed his people just standing around.

"_HEY! _wake up! Get yourselves dispersed. Move it!"

Just after the squad took up defensive positions in another crater, the Army door gunner spoke up.

"I've got movement in the tree line."

Mike looked out just in time to watch the jungle erupt with muzzle flashes. Bullets started snapping overhead and green tracers arced lazily towards them. An RPG round exploded ten yards in front of the crater.

"_**CRAP**_"

The Marines put out rounds and Mike got on the radio. The company was held up by an ambush. They would be no help for a while. Mike had the RTO change freqs so he could contact the artillery battery at An Hoa. After several fire missions aimed at the tree line, the enemy fire stopped.

After half an hour the company arrived and threw out a larger perimeter. Third Platoon's corpsman, 'Doc' Adler stabilized Lt. Pierce's knee and a Dustoff was inbound. Mike finally got a chance to talk to Pierce.

"Thanks for keeping the gomers off of us Sarge."

"No problem Sir. My pleasure."

The sound of the Dustoff's rotors came from the distance. Pierce looked up at Mike.

"Can I ask you a favor Sarge?"

"Sure El-tee. What do you need?"

"Hold on to this for me?"

Pierce reached up, pulling a revolver from his shoulder holster.

"Some REMF'll just steal it first time I'm not watching it. I'd rather somebody put it to good use."

Mike looked at the pistol. It was a Colt Python with a 4 inch barrel and a parkerized finish.

"I'll take good care of it El-tee."

Pierce sighed.

"I know you will."

**A/N: **Before I hear it from anyone I know the 5th Marines were at An Hoa, not the 9th. Artistic license. I know **USAFChief **will probably know what the title of this story means. The rest of you will just have to look it up. Call it homework. Hope you enjoyed this Mike in Vietnam story. I might write a continuation. I have more material and I'm thinking another chapter is indicated.


	25. I've Seen the Elephant

**Disclaimer: Due to technical difficulties your regularly scheduled disclaimer will not be seen today.**

**Authors Note: **This is the follow on to the previous chapter "Doom On You". I'm going to give a rest to the 'Mike in Vietnam' arc. I've never served in the military nor have I been to Vietnam (obviously). I based this story on things I've researched and stories I've been told by Viet vets. Any mistakes are mine and completely unintentional.

**Dedication: **This story is for **USAFCHIEF**. Twenty two year USAF veteran, served in Vietnam. One of the people who've provided the blanket of freedom we've _all _been living under. For that he has my undying respect and admiration. This one's for you _compadre._

**Charlie Company hootches, An Hoa Combat Base, 0100hrs**

Staff Sergeant Mike Franks USMC was drunk. Not knee walking commode hugging drunk, just pleasantly buzzed. Lance Corporal Charles 'Chip' Thomas , Third Platoon's RTO had hustled four cases of San Miguel beer out of the back door of the Enlisted Men's Club. The command group of the platoon was partying. Mike, Lt. Harry Kearns, Chip, 'Doc' Adler and the right guide Thomas 'Snuffy' Jones. Why the party you may ask? Because Mike Franks was going home in the morning. That's right; Mike Franks was going back to the World….

**One month earlier**

After the rescue of the Army chopper crew, Charlie Company returned to An Hoa. Several days later, S/Sgt Mike Franks was summoned to his company commander's hootch. On the way over Mike tried to figure why Capt. Collins would want to see him. No clue. As Franks stopped in front of the hootch, he shrugged.

_Guess I'll find out soon enough._

Attached to the door frame was a piece of plywood painted scarlet. **"Knock here. Await permission to enter"** was printed in yellow. Mike knocked twice rattling the frame. Capt. Collins' voice came from inside.

"Enter"

Franks composed himself and entered the hootch. Capt. Collins was sitting at his desk. There was another person in the room off to Franks' left. Mike kept his eyes to the front. He stopped two feet from the desk coming to attention and gazing about a foot over Collins' head.

"Staff Sergeant Franks reporting to the Company Commander as ordered."

Collins looked up from some paperwork.

"At ease Mike."

Franks assumed the 'at ease' and saw the other person in the room was his platoon leader, Harry Kearns.

"Take a seat", said Capt. Collins gesturing to the chair in front of his desk.

"Thank you sir."

After Mike seated himself Collins spoke.

"Staff Sergeant, it's come to my attention that you've gotten your third Purple Heart. Furthermore you're down to thirty days before rotating home. As of now you are out of the bush."

"But sir…."

"No buts Mike. If the company goes back out you'll be staying here. As long as Charlie's here at An Hoa you'll continue to function normally as Platoon Sergeant. If we go out Sergeant Jones, the right guide will function as Platoon Sergeant."

Mike looked stricken.

"Captain, please don't do this. If the company goes out and I stay here, I'll feel like I'm runnin' out on the guys."

"Franks, you've already extended your tour. Eighteen months in-country, a Bronze Star with 'V' and three Purple Hearts. You've done enough."

Harry Kearns spoke up.

"C'mon Mike, the captain's right. You've done your part and more. It's time to go home and get on with your life."

Seeing that arguing with the two officers would be useless, Mike sighed.

"Aye Aye, sirs."

**Charlie Company hootches, 0110hrs**

Mike Franks looked blearily around the hootch. 'Snuffy' Jones was passed out on the floor.

_Always was a lightweight._

Harry Kearns and 'Doc' Adler were quietly debating the relative merits of Jimi Hendrix and Jim Morrison. 'Chip' Thomas was methodically sipping his beer and staring into space. Mike lifted his own can of San Miguel and sipped. The chalky taste of warm beer assaulted his taste buds.

_Wonder if I'll ever like the taste of cold beer again._

Looking at his friends, a sudden rush of love and warmth hit Mike. He stood, intending to say something about how he'd been privileged and proud to serve with the guys in front of him. How they felt closer to him than his own family. When his three conscious friends looked up at him, he realized how cliché and sappy it would sound. So instead, he grunted.

"I'm gonna rack out. See you gents in the mornin'. Chip, thanks for the beer."

Thomas waved limply.

"Don't mean nothin' bro. Glad ta do it."

There was a chorus of 'Night Mike's' as Franks stumbled out of the hootch towards his own.

**The next day, Da Nang Air Base**

Leaving An Hoa was anticlimactic. Mike checked out of the company and his friends accompanied him to the helipad. Everybody was slightly hung over. Home address info was exchanged. As the beat of the incoming chopper's rotors was heard, embraces and 'take good cares' were traded. Mike climbed aboard the Huey and it took off. Mike waved and An Hoa faded away.

Several hours later, Mike along with at least a hundred other Marines was standing in an open sided shed waiting for the 'Freedom Bird' to drop out of the sky and take him home. Upon arriving at Da Nang, there was the usual 'hurry up and wait'. A uniform inspection, Customs shakedown and the assigning of roster numbers. Suddenly there was a buzz from the front of the crowd. A large white aircraft was drifting towards the runway.

_Closer, we're getting' closer_

As the Boeing 707 taxied towards the ground guide, Mike started looking around.

_There's no bunker around here, be a shame to get mortared this close to goin' home._

The 707 stopped in front of the shed and the engines shut down. The ground crew rolled up stairs to the front and rear of the aircraft. A fuel truck and other service vehicles converged on the 707. The hatches opened and Marines started filing off the jet. Officers and senior NCO's from the front enlisted Marines from the rear. As the line of arriving enlisted Marines passed the shed, the catcalls started.

"Welcome to the 'Nam suckers!"

"Keep your eyes peeled FNG's. Nothin' but dinks for a hundred klicks around!"

"You'll be soreeeee! fuckin' soreeee!"

"Hey FNG, what's your sister's phone number? Address? I'll stop by an' tell her I saw yer ass an' it was still in one piece."

Mike took no part in the catcalls. He just chain smoked, tapping his foot. Finally the plane was fueled and serviced. Roster numbers were called and the home bound Marines filed onboard. As Mike entered the cabin, the stewardess, green eyed and brown haired said, "Welcome aboard Marine."

Seeing his first round-eyed woman in eighteen months (nurses don't count, they're officers) Franks could only smile weakly and nod.

_Doofus. Real smooth Mikey._

Once everyone was strapped in, the pilot lit off the engines did a fast taxi out to the active runway.

_Closer and still closer…_

The 707 swung into takeoff position and charged down the runway. Mike felt the nose lift and the aircraft gave that little hop and they were off the ground, climbing steeply and turning sharply towards the ocean. There were scattered yells, but nothing like Mike thought there'd be. Mostly he heard breaths long held expelled.

Fifteen minutes later the brown haired stewardess came by with the beverage cart.

"Can I get you a drink?"

Prepared this time, Franks smiled.

"Got any beer in there?"

"Sure do. Bud okay?"

"Oh, yeah."

The stewardess, whose name turned out to be Jill, handed over a cold Budweiser.

"Thanks darlin'"

As Mike took his first sip of cold beer, he sighed.

_Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life._

**A/N: **I had to work Tuesday night so no NCIS for me. But I did come up for an idea for a story for the season opener. Stay tuned. In the meantime how 'bout a review? Would it help if I said please?


	26. First Meeting

**Disclaimer: The usual yadda-yadda-yadda.**

**Authors Note: **Since I've been writing here, there have only been two story ideas I've never been able to build a story about. One is **5Snowflakes** about Gibbs' sniper mission in Colombia where he meets Rose. The other is **M E Wofford's **story about the big hug Abby gives Mike Franks in 'Delieverence'. Sadly I'm no closer on the Rose story (though I think about it when working). On the Abby/Mike story I think I've got an idea. This is the start.

**Background: **The story I'm going to tell has the frame work of **'Hiatus I & II'.** Also my chapter 'Blown up' in this story. If you've read this far and don't know Gibbs got blown up on the show, stop reading now. Go and watch 'Hiatus'. Then you can come back (bossy much LT?). Anyway, the hug between Abby and Mike is a tough hook to write. There was no context, at least none I could find. So I'm going to try and give it some. I'm also going to write in POV, which I haven't done in a while. Hope it doesn't suck too much (as you can tell I'm not a 100% confident in this one).

**Abby's POV**

As a forensic scientist, Abby Sciuto liked to deal in facts. Director Shepard told the team a retired agent named Mike Franks was coming to help Gibbs try and remember what happened prior to the explosion that put him in the hospital. Agent Franks was Gibbs' partner and mentor before he got the MCRT.

The first thing Abby did when she got back to the lab was try and access Franks' personnel file. No luck. The man retired in 1996 and his file was not transferred to the database.

_If I want a peek I'm gonna have to go next door._

The Archives section was housed in the building next to headquarters. Since Abby had a boatload of evidence(_Literally_) in her lab, she set up several of her 'babies' plus Major Mass Spec to run tests. This would give her forty five minutes of down time.

Archives was in the basement. It was accessed by walking down a long stairway. There was a waist high counter behind which was an agent who retrieved the paper files. When Abby walked up to the counter, she saw that one of her friends, Agent Frank Reynolds was manning the desk. He grinned when he saw Abby.

"Abby, what brings you to my kingdom?"  
Abby smiled.

"I need to see a retired agent's file Frank."

"Sure, name?"  
"Mike Franks."

Reynolds raised an eyebrow.

"Franks has been gone since '96. What's going on?"

"Just some research. Did you know him?"

"Oh yeah. Last of the 'cowboys'. Damn fine agent. Give me a couple."

As the agent went to dig out the file, Abby started dancing in place to music only she could hear. When Frank came back with the thick file he grinned.

"Might be time to cut back on the Caf-Pow kiddo. Here ya go."

Abby took the file and moved away.

"Hey Abs, ya gotta read it here. Can't take it out of the building."

The Goth turned and gave Frank her wide eyed "who me" look.

"Oh, right. Sorry."

Abby took the file to a nearby table and flipped it open. The picture on the cover sheet showed a guy with slicked back black hair and a mustache. Born in 1948 in Alexandria, Louisiana, college at LSU (_Hey, a Tiger just like me!_). Served eighteen months in Vietnam with the Marines. Joined NIS in 1976, stationed in Panama, Honduras, and Colombia (activities Classified, see separate file folder NIS 03-73452). Last assignment, NIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton MCB. As Abby looked over Franks' time at Camp Pendleton, her eyes widened. _Franks was the lead investigator in the homicides of Shannon and Kelly Gibbs! _No wonder Director Shepard wanted him here. Abby returned the file to Agent Reynolds and went back to her lab.

The next day, Director Shepard brought Franks down to the lab to introduce him. The hair was longer, shaggier and shot full of gray, but it was the voice that Abby. It was growly and whiskey soaked. After a couple of minutes the Director whisked him away. The next time Abby would see him it was very early in the morning in Gibbs' room at Bethesda.

**Mike's POV**

When Mike Franks got the call that brought him to Washington, he thought it was a joke. That was until he heard his Probie's name. When he got to Bethesda and saw Jethro lying in that hospital bed looking lost, hurt and confused, his heart about broke. But years of interrogating suspects kept his face impassive. Mike managed to jog Gibbs' memory to the point where He retired, but no farther.

When Mike first arrived in Washington, he was taken to see Director Shepard. The petite red head who'd stood up behind the desk set off bells in Mike's brain. _This was the woman Probie'd been talking to him about in '99!_ Franks was as sure of it as anything he'd ever been. Director Shepard took him down to the bullpen and introduced him to Gibbs' team.

DiNozzo, the playboy never grew up frat brother. Mike sensed there was more there than DiNozzo let anybody see. What Mike did see was Tony took charge and was making some headway in the investigation.

McGee, the tech savvy Probie. Mike saw the potential that made Gibbs pluck McGee from Norfolk.

Finally, Ziva David. Even before Director Shepard mentioned Ziva was a liaison from Mossad, Mike pegged her. It was all in the eyes. David was a hitter. He'd seen the same eyes on cartel and Mafia hitmen. She was definitely not a cop. But again, Jethro must have seen something or Ms. David would've been back in her homeland killing terrorists.

Mike met Dr. Mallard and was then taken to the lab to meet the team's forensic tech. Between the Goth attire and the death metal music, Abby Sciuto was definitely different. One thing Mike saw that was apparent was Abby cared deeply for his Probie. _Points for her._

As Mike and the Director rode the elevator back upstairs, Mike spoke.

"Thought the agency had a dress code?"

Jenny Shepard chuckled.

"We do. But Abby is the exception. She's brilliant, and I can live with the clothes to get the mind."

Mike grinned.

"Wish I'da had you as my SAC at Pendleton. My boss liked my clothes, but hated my mind."

Mike put the Goth out of his mind figuring he'd not see her again.

**Between Angie's Diner and the National Naval Medical Center (Bethesda)**

After Abby finished demolishing her breakfast, she and Mike Franks started walking back to the hospital. While she ate Abby had peppered Mike with questions about Gibbs. Franks told her some things Jethro would have if asked. When they left the diner, Abby fell silent and they walked side by side, Abby's platforms bringing her almost to Mike's height. Franks knew what see was dying to ask, but he'd let her bring it up. Abby finally gave a sigh.

"Agent Franks…."

"Told ya to call me Mike."

"Sorry. Can I ask you something?"  
"Sure, fire away."

"Why didn't Gibbs ever tell us about Shannon and Kelly?"

_What she means is 'why didn't he tell __**me**__'._

"Don't know Abby. He's always kept that part of his life private. The only reason I know is I investigated the deaths. If I hadn't, I 'd probably be in the dark too."

_Just a little white lie there._

"Was it really bad?"  
Mike gave her the bare bones details.

"If you want to hear more you'll have to ask him."

The two drew up to the pedestrian gate of the medical center. The Marine who checked their ID's gave them a sort of sideways look. Mike chuckled to himself.

_We must look a sight. Old fart and young Goth!_

The two proceeded up to Gibbs' room. Abby stopped outside. Mike raised an eyebrow.

"What?"

Abby smiled.

"Gotta put on my 'happy face'. Don't want the Bossman to see me down."  
Mike guided her into the room, putting a smile on his own face.

"That's the spirit."

**A/N: **As I said at the start, I'm going to try and build a relationship between Mike and Abby so the 'hug' makes more sense. Only time will tell if I can do that. There will be a couple of chapters I think.


	27. Last of the Cowboys

**Disclaimer: Any and all copyrighted material that makes its way into this work of **_**fan**_**fiction is the sole property of its creator and has **_**nothing **_**whatsoever to do with **_**me. **_**I do however own my OC's whenever they pop up.**

**Authors Note: **I worked days New Year's Eve Day. Was listening to the NCIS Soundtrack CD's I own. This story popped into my head and I had to write it. We're again going to revisit the Season 8 opener "Spider and the Fly". My OC from "Murder Most Foul", Special Agent Brett Place is going to make an appearance. Happy New Year and enjoy!

**Spoilers: **The aforementioned "Spider and the Fly".

**Little Sisters of the Poor Convent, La Paz, Mexico 0355hrs**

NCIS Senior Special Agent Brett Place stared at the wall of the convent from the front seat of the Jeep Cherokee he was in. It took almost three weeks, but Brett thought he'd finally located his quarry. If Place was correct, Mike Franks was in the guest house that was on the other side of the wall. Three weeks ago Brett between assignments was soaking up the sun poolside at the Camp Pendleton Officers Club. A Marine MP came up to his lounge chair and informed him the Director of NCIS wanted to speak to him _immediately. _After a short ride to the NCIS Field Office, Place was in a video conference with NCIS Director Leon Vance.

"Agent Place, I need you to find your former partner Mike Franks."

"Well Director, we weren't _exactly_ partners…"

"Close enough. Out of all my current agents, you're the only one other than Gibbs who could find him. And I'm not letting Gibbs anywhere near Mexico."

"Yes Sir."

Like most of the agency, Brett was well aware of the vendetta between the Reynosa cartel and Senior Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs. Director Vance pointed into the camera.

"Find Franks and bring him to Washington."

"Yes Sir. I'm on it."

So for three weeks Brett poked discreetly into Mike Franks' existence in Mexico. All that poking finally led him to his current position. Place looked at his watch. 0358. He'd go in at 0400. Brett started singing quietly to himself.

"There's a man who lives a life of danger. To everyone he meets he stays a stranger. With every move he makes, another chance he takes. Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow. Secret agent man, secret agent man. They've given you a number and taken away your name.

_Gotta love Johnny Rivers._

Place pulled on a pair of Kevlar lined leather gloves and exited the Jeep. He walked over to the wall and looked up. A good jump and he should be able to grab the top of the wall. He flexed his knees and jumped. His hands caught the edge of the wall and he pulled himself up. The broken glass on the top of the wall scored the leather of the gloves, but didn't penetrate the Kevlar. Brett pulled up onto the top of the wall being careful not to make the glass crunch with his feet. He jumped down, landing softly. The guest house was twenty yards away. Sticking to the shadows, Place reached the back door. There was enough moonlight to see that there was no dead bolt, only a knob lock.

_First rule of burglary, see if the door is unlocked._

Brett carefully turned the knob. The door was unlocked.

_Very unMike-like. Maybe he's NOT here. If so, I've broken into a convent for nothing._

Place moved through the door. He was in the kitchen. Pulling a red lensed Mini-Maglite from his pocket, he looked around. There was an old style percolator on the stove. A ghost of a smile crossed Brett's face.

_Maybe he's here after all._

The agent moved from the kitchen to the next room which contained a couple of chairs and a table with cards scattered on it. Off of this room was a corridor. Brett ghosted down the corridor passing a couple of bedrooms and the bathroom. The last bedroom door was closed. Place hesitated.

_If there's some old visiting nun behind this door, I'm gonna go to hell for sure._

Place tried the knob. Unlocked. He eased the door open enough to squeeze into the room. Closing the door behind him, he took two steps into the room. At the second step, the floorboard creaked loudly. Simultaneously there was the sound of a pistol being cocked.

_SHIT!_

"You move like an elephant in heat Junior," a familiar gravelly voice said.

Brett smiled in the darkness.

"You loosened the floorboard didn't ya?"

Mike Franks struck a match, lighting the candle on a table to his right. In his left hand was a .45.

"A course I did."

"You okay Mike?"

"Now I am Brett. Three and a quarter months ago I was hurt pretty good."

"How'd you know it was me?"

Mike grinned.

"Every kid in a two mile radius is on my payroll at $2.00 US a day. Soon as you showed up, I heard about the 'tall _gringo _with the dark hair, mustache and brown eyes, driving a blue Jeep."

Brett shook his head, smiling ruefully.

_Done in by the Mexican version of 'the Baker Street Irregulars'._

Mike stood.

"C'mon, let's go into the kitchen and have coffee and you can tell me what's been going on."

While Mike got the coffee going, Place called Washington on his sat-phone and arranged for the two of them to be picked up on the General Aviation side of the Ensenada Airport. Brett filled Mike in on the happenings since the shootout. Mike smiled.

"So DiNozzo's okay?"

Brett nodded.

"Yeah. Gibbs and his dad are holed up at Gibbs' house. When we get to DC I'll take you there. After that the Director wants to see ya."

"How're my girls?"

Camilla went to stay with her mom. Amaya and Hope are still with General Kearns. By the way, he says you owe him a fishing trip for this one."

Mike's face darkened.

"Might be a while. The bastards burned down my house."

Now it was Brett's turn to grin.

"I'm the bearer of good news. The insurance company paid off on your house. It should be done in a couple of months. There's a double wide there now, in case things wrap up soon."

"Man, that's great. Soon as it gets light, I'll say goodbye to the sisters and we can get outta here. Look at you though, working for the big chief. You've come far pilgrim."

Brett shook his head.

"C'mon Mike, it's not that big a deal. Since I worked with you back in '91, Vance figured it would be easier for me to get a line on you. That's all."

"So what have you been doing Junior?"

Place looked at the ceiling.

"After eighteen months at sea on the 'Lincoln', I got assigned to the field office at Pearl. Then I went to the DLI (Defense Language Institute) for Japanese. Assigned to the Yokosuka field office for a while. Another stint at the DLI for Mandarin. I've been kicking around the Far East now for a while tracking Abu Sayyaf and Jemaah Islamiya terrorists. After I get you delivered, I'm supposed to go back to the DLI for Tagalog and Bahasa Malaysia. Then an extended assignment to the Singapore Field Office."

Mike shook his head.

"Done any police work lately?"

Place smiled.

"Sure Mike. The anti-terrorist stuff has only been for the last three, four years."

"Well, that's good. I'd hate for all my effort to turn you into a cop to go to waste."

**A block down from Gibbs' house ten hours later**

After saying goodbye to the sisters, Brett and Mike drove four hours to the Ensenada Airport. They were picked up by a chartered Gulfstream and flew to Dulles. A NCIS car was waiting and took them to the area of Gibbs' house. As the car stopped at the curb, a young agent stepped out of the shadows. Brett and Mike got out of the car and the agent approached.

"Agent Place?"

Brett nodded.

"That would be me."

"Agent Fitzharris. Mr. Franks is cleared to Agent Gibbs' house. Should I call and tell Agent Gibbs he's coming?"

Mike had retrieved his bag and turned.

"Nah, don't do that. I like to make an entrance."

Mike reached out and grasped Brett's outstretched hand.

"Take good care Junior and keep your powder dry."

"Thanks Mike. Maybe I'll come and do some fishing myself down the line."

"Anytime Brett, anytime."

With that Franks moved off down the sidewalk and was soon out of sight.

Agent Fitzharris turned to Brett.

"So that was the legendary Agent Mike Franks? I thought he'd be taller."

"Sonny, we'll never see his like again. He's the last of the 'cowboys'."

**A/N: **Happy New Year to all my readers, especially my 'regulars'.


	28. Ain't No Grave

**Disclaimer: As usual the copyrighted material that may be used in this work of **_**fanfiction**_** does not belong to me.**

**Authors Note: **I wrote this chapter on the same day as the preceding one. I saved it for after the first of the year to get my stats off to a good start. However after seeing the poor showing of the last chapter I'm not too sure about that. The first episode of this season was full of good stuff for me. It showcased my favorite character so we're still in that time frame. The chapter title comes from the Johnny Cash song that was playing at the end of "Patriot Down". It took me a while to find it, but it was worth it. This story is part of my ongoing effort out stretch out some. It's my first attempt at having one character carry the entire dialog. I'd really appreciate feedback on this one. I'd like to write a few more like this.

**Spoilers: **Well, if you read the previous chapter you know I mention "Spider and the Fly" and my story "Murder Most Foul". John Bailey was the agent who drove Shannon and Kelly. And if you didn't read the previous chapter why not?

"_There ain't no grave Can hold my body down_ _There ain't no grave Can hold my body down When I hear that trumpet sound I'm gonna rise right out of the ground Ain't no grave Can hold my body down…"_

**St. Joseph's Cemetery, Toms River, NJ 1215hrs**

Two men stood over the grave in the early spring chill. The older, wrapped in an old bridge coat was smoking a cigarette.

"Gimme a few will ya Brett?"

NCIS Senior Special Agent Brett Place nodded.

"Sure Mike. Take your time."

Place moved off towards the car, leaving retired Senior Special Agent Mike Franks looking down at the grave.

"Hello John. Sorry it's been so long."

The grave of Special Agent John Bailey was well tended. The grass was newly cut and there was a small American flag waving in the slight breeze. Franks exhaled a thin ribbon of smoke through his nose.

"I've been thinking of you a lot these past couple of months John. When Junior brought up comin' here, I jumped right on board. I really should have stopped by sooner, but something always seemed to come up."

Mike shook his head.

"You probably know all about what's been goin' on. Some shit, huh? Even dead, that bastard Pedro Hernandez reared his ugly head. His spawn tried to screw over Gibbs, but we managed to stop it. Too bad you weren't around; it would have been right up your alley."

Mike took a final drag on his smoke, field stripping the butt. He allowed the shreds of tobacco and paper to sail off on the wind, putting the filter in the pocket of the bridge coat.

"I've always regretted that you never got to come down to Mexico. We coulda had a helluva time. Cold beer, warm sun and great fishin'. Hell, I'da even let ya try to teach me how to surf fish. Remember how you used to carry on about the great fishin' here on the Jersey Shore? Man you could be annoyin'"

Franks chuckled at the memory. He reached into his pocket and came out with his cigarettes and lighter and lit another smoke.

"Camilla's been on me to quit. Don't think it's gonna happen. If the last four months are any indication, I'll die of lead poisoning before lung cancer. Two bullets in four months John. First one cost me half the trigger finger on my right hand. The next almost punched my ticket. I think I'm startin' ta get too old for this shit."

Mike stuck his hands into the pockets of his coat, cigarette dangling from his lips.

"You know John; the whole thing never would have happened if I'da just walked away once Hernandez got over the border. But I couldn't. I couldn't let him get away with killin' you and Jethro's wife and daughter. That and he just had to rub our noses in it by grabbin' his crotch at the crossing. That was the last straw. I decided then and there, I'd get him no matter what. I was lucky Gibbs hated Hernandez just as much as I did. That day in my office, I knew exactly what would happen when I went to the head. Hell, I wanted it to happen."  
Franks sighed, putting out his cigarette and field stripping it.

"I started the ball rolling and Gibbs did what I knew he would. Only neither one of us realized the ball _kept _rolling. It damn near rolled over us too."

Mike reached into the inside pocket of his coat, withdrawing a pint bottle of Jameson. He twisted off the cap.

"But it all ended relatively well. Here's to you John Bailey, you were a fine friend and a helluva cop."

With that Mike took a generous swallow of whiskey, capped the bottle and placed it next to the headstone. Straightening up Franks looked down again at the grave of his friend.

"_Adios compadre,_ we'll be meeting again soon enough. Put in a good word for me with the Big Guy will ya?"

Mike turned on his heel and walked to the car. Brett Place, who had been leaning against the vehicle straightened up.

"Let's go Junior; it's a long ride back to DC."

"_Well, look down yonder, Gabriel Put your feet on the land and sea But Gabriel, don't you blow your trumpet Until you hear from me…"_**-American VI, Ain't No Grave, Johnny Cash**

**A/N: **When I first heard "Ain't No Grave" during "Patriot Down", I didn't realize it was Johnny Cash. Then I did a little research and found it was his last studio album before his death. The song is on YouTube, and you should give it a listen.


	29. Grandfatherly Advice

**Disclaimer: {This space intentionally left blank}**

**Authors Note: **Hello Mike Franks fans. I'm finally updating 'El Viejo'. Just got done with a story arc from 'A Man Walks Into A Bar'. This story is a little short. I'm still feeling my way back to Mike. I watched 'Two-Faced' the other day and this story is what resulted. Several readers of 'El Viejo' have said I made the connection between Mike, Gibbs and Tony. Back when Jenny was the Director, Abby equated Gibbs to the Daddy and Jenny to the Mommy of the dysfunctional family that is Team Gibbs. That would make Mike Franks the Grandpa. That's where the title of this story comes from. Hope you enjoy it.

**Spoilers: **For 'Two-Faced' and there is going to be a character death spoken of. So if you're a fan of Special Agent Barrett, _sin loi_ GI.

**Rudy's, Georgetown, Friday, Present Day, 2315hrs.**

It's been three weeks since the 'Port to Port Killer' was put down by NCIS. It's been two weeks since the funeral of Special Agent E J Barrett. C I Ray is back in Miami. Special Agent Anthony 'Tony' DiNozzo is sitting at the bar in Rudy's drinking Glenlivet on the rocks. Normally he'd be drinking at Charlie's Bar, but E J's picture was already on the memorial wall and Tony was not up to seeing that sight just yet. The thought of her picture brought thoughts of her death. E J haunted Abby's lab all during the investigation. So when the Goth scientist came up with findings linking one of their suspects to the crimes followed by the location of the suspect E J'd been right there. She tossed a 'Thanks Abby' over her shoulder and went wildcatting off on her own. She only had a ten minute head start, but it was enough to get her killed. She went in without backup and the killer ambushed her and cut her throat. E J's sudden arrival spooked the killer. This caused him to panic, abandoning his usual caution. He ran right into the team, being shot dead by Gibbs. In the aftermath, Tony went on autopilot. Gibbs had McGee keep Tony out of the crime scene. Knowing instinctively what was inside Tony did not object.

After the funeral, everybody from the team came up to Tony and said a few words of condolence. Except Gibbs. He came up, gave Tony' shoulder a hard squeeze and walked away. In a way DiNozzo was glad. He knew Gibbs hadn't particularly cared for E J. As a matter of fact Gibbs told E J in no uncertain terms to stay away from Tony. Not that E J listened.

_It's all water under the bridge now._

Tony downed the remaining scotch in his glass and motioned to the bartender for another. As he sipped his newly arrived drink, he felt the presence of another person to his right.

_I'm really not in the mood to be sociable._

"Drinkin' by yourself is a bad sign DiNozzo."

Recognizing the cigarette and alcohol tinged voice, Tony turned his head slowly to the right. Mike Franks' scruffy weather-beaten face looked back at him impassively.

"What're you doing here Mike?"

"Talkin' to you."

"Let me rephrase. What are you doing in DC?"

Franks smiled.

"I was up in New York City takin' care of some personal business and got a call from Gibbs. So here I am."

"How did you find me?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, Tony raised his hand.

"Don't bother to answer. I know, it was McGee."

Franks smiled again.

"See that, you're not just another pretty face."

While they were talking the bartender arrived.

"What can I get you sir?"

"Corona with a wedge of lime."

"Coming right up."

Tony looked at Franks.

"So the Boss called you and you're supposed to do what exactly?"

"Well, based on what Probie said, probably grab your ears and pull your head outta your ass."

"He said that?"

"Not in those words exactly, but he said you were just goin' through the motions and unless you got yourself back on track you'd get yourself or somebody else killed."

"How come he's not here making this speech?"

Mike gave the younger man a 'are you really that dense' look.

"Because he knows how much Agent Barrett meant to you. He also knows that _you_ know _he_ wasn't overly fond of Agent Barrett. Gibbs figured that I could talk to ya better, me being an uninterested party sorta."

Tony didn't say anything right away. The bartender returned with Mike's beer. Tony looked down at his hands wrapped around the glass of scotch. His voice was almost inaudible.

"I think she may have been the one."

Mike took a sip of beer and sighed.

"Listen Tony, I'm gonna tell you something. Everybody thinks Gibbs came up with Rule 12 because of what happened between him and Jenny."

"Well, didn't he?"

"No he did not. Back when we worked together, women were just coming into the agency. Before I retired I told Probie to _never_ become romantically involved with a female agent. Leaving aside the fact that you'd be dealing with an armed individual who becomes emotionally unstable once a month. It's tough enough to lose your partner. But losing your partner _and _your lover, man that has to be devastating."

"She wasn't my partner."

Mike cocked an eyebrow.

"Outcome looks the same to me DiNozzo. Look, you wanta drink 'til your liver gets to be the size of a truck tire go ahead. But it's not gonna bring her back."

Tony looked into the older man's eyes.

"What would you do?"

"Me? I'd probably get good and drunk. Then I'd sober up and drive on. I couldn't build a boat if my life depended on it."  
Tony laughed, the first one in about two weeks.

"I don't even have a basement!"

Mike put his hand on Tony's shoulder.

"Listen, why don't you put in for a week's vacation. Come down to Baja. We'll do some fishin', drink at Carlos'; you can go to the beach with Hope and build sandcastles. Clear your head."

"You serious Mike?"

Franks gave the younger man 'the look'.

"No DiNozzo, I'm blowin' smoke up your ass. 'Course I'm serious."

"Will Gibbs go for it?"

"You leave Probie to me. Put the paperwork in."

"Thanks Mike."

"_Da nada. _Come on, I'll ride ya home. I really need a cigarette."

As the two men left the bar, Tony felt better than he had in a month.

**A/N: **I've heard that there is speculation on the Web that there's going to be a death or deaths during this serial killer arc. Far as I'm concerned if anybody has to get clipped (a little Mob lingo there. Don't anybody get their panties in a bunch, I'm part Italian), Agent Barrett is a good candidate. I'm not too fond of her. Hope you enjoyed my first Mike story in a while. If so, kindly drop a review.


	30. I Got Better

**Disclaimer: Standard disclaimer applies.**

**Authors Note: **Worked a 12 hour overnight last night. This story is what came out of that.

**Spoilers: **This takes place in the context of 'Spider and the Fly'. Also after you read _this _you can go back and read 'The Last of the Cowboys', 'cause now it's sorta a two-shot. A twofer as it were.

**Gibbs** (softly): _Thought you were dead._

**Franks **(laughs): _I got better!_

**Cabo Suerte, Baja Mexico, 1550hrs.**

As soon as the round hit him, retired NIS/NCIS Special Agent Mike Franks knew he was in trouble. Mike was wearing a Second Chance Deep Cover vest. Usually when you catch a round in the vest, it feels like someone rammed you with the butt end of a pool cue. This felt like he'd been jabbed with a hot poker.

_Goddamn round went thru the vest._

DiNozzo was safe. Mike shoved him behind a pillar just before the shooting started. Now it was everyman for himself and the devil take the hindmost. After a brief exchange of fire that left one hitter dead on the sidewalk, Mike dodged down an alley. There were sirens in the distance. Very soon now the local _policia_ would be swarming all over. Franks needed to get off the street and assess his condition. He looked down at his shirt. There was a hole but no blood.

_I gotta be leaking, but at least it's not showing yet._

Mike kept moving hoping that he wouldn't go into shock. He went over his options. Couldn't go to Carlos', they'd be watching it.

_Guess it'll have to be Momma Rosa's._

Rosa Gonzalez ran a high-class brothel. Mike had done her a few favors in the past. Time to collect a marker or two. After about a half hour, Mike was at the backdoor of Rosa's. A couple of hard raps brought the woman herself to the door.

"Senor Mike, what are you doing here?"

"Need a favor Rosa."

The woman's eyes widened when she saw blood staining Mike's right pants leg near the belt line.

"_Dios mio, _you're bleeding!"

"Yeah, I kinda sprung a leak."

"Come in, come in."

Mike entered what turned out to be the kitchen. Rosa pulled out a chair.

"Sit."

"Not right now darlin'. I need to use your telephone."

Rosa nodded at a phone hanging on the wall. Mike picked up the receiver and dialed a number from memory. The number rang twice.

"Hello?"

"Hey, it's me. No names. Do you recognize my voice?"

"Yeah."

"The black duffel bag I left with you, I need you to bring it to the place we brought your nephew to on his seventeenth birthday. Park in the alley. Watch for tails. Can you do that?"

"Yeah."

The line went dead. Twenty minutes later, there was a knock on the door. Mike raised his .45. Rosa opened the door and Mike's friend Pete Webster walked in carting a black duffel. Webster was 5' 8"with black hair, brown eyes and the rolling gait of a sailor. He'd spent twenty five years 'haze grey and underway', retiring as a Master Chief Quartermaster. He looked balefully at the .45 pointed at his face.

"I drop everything I'm doin', haul this duffel here and get a pistol pointed at me?"

"Sorry Pete. I get a little tense when people try to kill me."

Webster finally sees the blood staining Franks' pants leg.

"What the hell! You okay Mike?"

With the adrenaline wearing off, pain was starting to wash over Mike.

"Hell no I'm not okay. Rosa, get a sheet and drape it over the kitchen table. Pete, open the bag. There should be a smaller one right on top. That's the medical kit."

Rosa came back with a clean sheet. Mike had her wash off the table and place the sheet. Mike unbuttoned his shirt, shrugging out of it. Under the shirt was the body armor. There is a hole near the lower right corner.

"Sonuvabitch musta been using armor piercing bullets. Cut the sides of the vest Pete."

Webster did as he was told. Mike was able to shrug the vest off. He inspected the hole he had in him. It was bruised looking and oozing blood.

_Least it's not gushing._

Mike felt around the entrance wound. He didn't think the bullet went far. He let out a deep breath.

"The vest still slowed it down some. I don't think anything major's been hit. No major artery damage or I'd be bleeding like a stuck pig."

Mike looked a t his friend.

"Ever take out a bullet Pete?"

"No, but I've seen it done."

"Fair enough. I'll talk ya through it. 'Less I pass out. There should be sterile instruments in the bag as well as gauze pads, Betadine and sutures. Let's get this party started."

Mike sat down on the table's edge and swung his legs up, laying flat on the table.

"Owww."

Pete and Rosa washed their hands and donned gloves from the medical kit. Mike gave instructions to Webster about removing the bullet. Pete took a deep breath and started in. After six or so minutes of digging and Mike cursing, Webster showing the green pointy slug to Mike.

"Cop killer bullet. He really tried to plant me. Can you sew me up Pete?"

"Sure Mikey."

"Good, 'cause I think I'm gonna pass out.

Several hours later, Mike wakes up in an upstairs room with Pete Webster sitting in a chair facing the door, a sawed off pump shotgun in his lap.

"Hey, Sleeping Beauty is finally awake. How ya feeling?"

"Like I got shot. Listen Pete, we gotta get outta here. How long have I been out?"

"Three hours."

Mike sat up wincing, swinging his feet to the floor.

"Definitely need to get outta here. Can you drive me to La Paz?"

Webster raised an eyebrow.

"What's in La Paz?"

"Little Sisters of the Poor Convent. The Mother Superior there owes me a favor. I'll lay low for a while."

Webster was silent for a few seconds, his face reddening. Then he burst into laughter.

"Good one Mikey. Ya really had me. Little Sisters of the Poor!"

Franks glared daggers at his friend.

"I was serious ya ignorant squid. Now belay that laughing or I'll take that scatter gun away from ya, stick it up your ass and pull the trigger!"

Twenty minutes later they were on the road to La Paz.

**Three and a quarter months later, Guest House, Little Sisters of the Poor Convent 1630hrs.**

"Gin!"

Mother Superior grinned triumphantly at Mike.

"That makes one hundred fifty US you owe me Miguel."

"No problem _Madre_."

_Why did I ever teach her this game?_

Mike threw in his cards and the Mother Superior gathered them in, starting to shuffle. The front door opened and one of the sisters brought in a scruffy looking street urchin.

"Senor Mike, this boy says he works for you and that he has some news."

"Yeah, he's workin' for me Sister. What ya got Enrique?"

The twelve year old smiled.

"There's a tall _gringo _with a mustache, brown hair and a blue truck looking for you senor."

Mike stiffened.

_This can't be good._

"I have a picture of him senor."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"How'd you manage that lad?"

"My friend Jamie has a cell phone with a camera. See?"

The boy flipped open a cell phone and handed it to Mike showing him the screen. Mike chuckled.

_Well, well, the prodigal returns._

"Good job Enrique. Here's ten dollars. Keep your eyes open."

"Si, senor."

The boy grabbed the money and left. Mother Superior looked at Mike.

"You know this man Miguel?"

"Yes, yes I do. We go way back. He's one of the good guys. _Madre, _could we finish this tomorrow? I've gotta take a siesta. I think I'm gonna be entertaining late tonight.

**A/N: **My OC Pete Webster had a small speaking part in the chapter 'Beer in Mexico'. Hope you enjoyed it. I stole the bullet removing idea from the movie _'Ronin'. _The so called 'cop killer bullets' were originally designed to penetrate car doors and windshields. The green Teflon coating has nothing to do with the penetration of the bullet. It's to protect the bore of the weapon they're fired from. They have tungsten cores rather than lead. This makes them able to defeat soft body armor. Second Chance Body Armor was started by Richard C. Davis in the early seventies. He's the 'father' of soft body armor. To date his products have saved 1000 law enforcement officers. I wore his vests all through my career.


	31. WTF Authors Note

**Disclaimer: None Needed.**

Okay, so I've been down in Florida for a week with the Boss. Missed Tony's epi and last night's. However, I just went on the "NCIS Squadroom" wiki and found out that_** Mike Franks is dead!**_ WTF!

I haven't seen the epi yet (don't know if I want to), so I'm gonna just sit back and process this a little. Don't know what I'm gonna do about "El Viejo".

For my regulars, hang in there, I'll figure out what I'm gonna do. For you lurkers out there, ditto.

This sucks in plain English. I'm out.


	32. Swan Song

**Disclaimer: NCIS is copyrighted material. It belongs to DPB, Don McGill et al. **

**Authors Note: **First off a big "Thank You" to all those who left comments to my last chapter. Since I ranted there, there will be none here. I was of two minds about "Swan Song", either ignore it or deal with it. I chose to deal with it. Also, I am going to continue to write about Mike. I've got enough stuff in my idea book to keep going, so I will. This is my tag to "Swan Song". There may be another. In case you're wondering, Gibbs and Tim don't make an appearance. Mainly because Gibbs 'talks' to Mike thru the entire episode and maybe the next. Tim because he doesn't really seem to have any connection to Mike. It's kinda short, but to the point I think. Because of the subject, I won't say enjoy, 'cause I didn't. But it had to be written, so I did.

**Spoilers:** Swan Song obviously. Duh! Also I use some stuff from my previous chapters in this story.

**NCIS HQ, Autopsy, Present Day, 2300hrs.**

Autopsy was dark, the only illumination coming from the security lights in each corner. The place was as spotless as the 'Autopsy Gremlin' could make it, ready for the next day's operation. The Port to Port Killer was still at large, but now there was a name and a face attached. His latest victim was in Drawer 107.

The doors to the room whooshed open and Special Agent Ziva David stepped carefully in. She was coming out of the ladies room when something made her come down. Now Ziva moved slowly towards Drawer 107. When she reached it, her hand hesitated on the handle. Taking a deep breath, she opened the drawer and pulled out the slab. Mike Franks' body slid into view. His mustached craggy face peaceful, the body was covered almost to the shoulders. The very ends of the "Y" incision from the autopsy just showing. Ziva's mind blanked out.

_Ya know if you don't get your head outta your ass, some punk with a Saturday Night Special could cap ya right where you're sitting._

Ziva snapped out of wherever she'd been and looked around.

_It was just like that day; she'd been distracted then too._

Franks gave her some good advice sitting in that outdoor café. It helped a lot. Earlier today in the elevator with Tony she'd broken down. The last time Ziva'd done that, it was in the lap of the man lying in front of her. With the aid of copious amounts of Irish whiskey Mike broke through the walls Ziva built around herself. And she'd been better for it.

_You have people who care for you and will help if you let them._

Mike Franks was one of those people. Now he was dead. In the past, working for Mossad, Ziva'd lost friends and colleagues. But this, this felt like Tali and her mother.

_Family._

Ziva sighed and touched Mike gently on the shoulder.

"_Shalom _Mike Franks."

Ziva slid the body back in the drawer and closed the door. She straightened, squared her shoulders and walked from Autopsy.

**2320hrs.**

Twenty minutes later, the doors of Autopsy opened again. Another female entered, her platform boot clad feet dragging slightly.

"You sure you don't want me to come in with you Abs?"

Abby Sciuto looked over her shoulder, pigtails swaying.

"No Timmy, I'll be okay."

The Goth-looking scientist squared herself and marched towards Drawer 107. When Abby reached it, she did not grab the handle right away. Abby felt tears prickling the back of her eyes.

_I can do this, I CAN do this!_

She grabbed the handle and swung open the drawer, pulling out the slab. Abby felt the tears start flowing.

_If I didn't know better_, _I'd swear he was just sleeping._

"Hi Mike."

As she looked down at Franks, the volume of tears increased.

_Hey, where's the 'happy face'?_

Abby started, looking around. The same whiskey and cigarette soaked voice that caught her attention when they first met seemed to come out of nowhere. Abby smiled through the tears.

"Outside the Bossman's hospital room. I remember. That was a scary time. This isn't scary though Mike. This sucks. Why'd you go out there? Why'd you take him on? Of course you'd take him on, you're you. I wish you hadn't, I wish…"

_Ramblin' Abby!_

"Oh, right, sorry. I'm really gonna miss you. We're _all _gonna miss you. I'm glad I got to give you one last hug. Don't worry about the Bossman. He's doing good. Better than when Kate got killed. I've never seen him this focused. You'd be proud of him."

Abby reached forward and brushed some stray hair off Mike's forehead.

"I'm gonna go now. See you again someday 'Agent Franks'. You can buy me a Zombie."

With that Abby slid Mike Franks back into Drawer 107 and closed the door. As she turned and walked away the tears started again and did not stop until she and McGee reached her lab.

**0015hrs.**

The last visitor to Autopsy showed up at 0015hrs. Special Agent Tony DiNozzo was still impeccable even at this hour. Tony marched directly to the drawer, swung open the door and slid out the slab.

_Too many of the people I care about have occupied this 'room' for my liking._

"Hello Mike."

Looking down on the craggy face, Tony felt his throat tighten. Last year in Mexico, Mike took a bullet meant for Tony. Franks passed it off as no big deal, but Tony knew better.

_Do what you have to for family._

"The Unspoken Rule. Don't worry Mike, I get it. You won't have to worry; I've got Gibbs' back. We'll get Cobb. If I can manage it, I'll punch his ticket and get your .45 back."

Tony makes his way over to Ducky's desk, opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a bottle of The Macallam single malt. Pouring a finger into a water glass he returns the bottle to the desk and comes back to Mike. Tony lifts his glass in salute.

"Here's to you Mike Franks. Last of the 'cowboys'. _Semper Fi._"

Tony tosses off the whiskey and closes Mike into Drawer 107 for the last time this evening. Time to get back to work. There's a killer to catch.

**A/N: **Bye Mike.


	33. Ranting Again

**Disclaimer: As before none needed for this post.**

_**When the truth and the legend contradict each other, always print the legend**_

**AUTHORS NOTE: **I'll start off with an apology. You probably were expecting another chapter here. Well, I had all good intentions to give you guys one. Tuesday night I was so po'd I switched off CBS before the preview for the season finale. Then, I saw it on the Web. I'd planned to do a chapter on Mike's funeral and the lead up to it. I see the series is going to have his funeral. Now it's bad enough that they killed off my favorite character, but it looks to me like they are not going to bury him in Mexico next to his son! Now I know that the continuity department and the writers on the show have an obvious disconnect, but come on! Sooo, I'm going to wait 'til after Tuesday night before doing my _last_ tag for the 'Swan Song' arc. After that, I'm going to retreat to happier times, when Mike was **alive.** From some research that I was doing in preparation for the chapter, apparently there are a lot of people who were upset by Mike getting clipped. Now I know he was a secondary character, but he was central to Gibbs' life _after_ Shannon and Kelly's deaths. I have no knowledge of why they axed Muse. Hopefully it was because he has other projects that would interfere with being on the show. If so, I wish him well. I'm gonna miss him. So again, sorry there's no story. I really don't like it when I'm reading a story and the author throws one of these out. But I figured you guys would forgive me just this once.


	34. Someday The Rains Will Fall

**Disclaimer: The usual disclaimer applies; don't see any reason why it shouldn't.**

**Authors Note: **After 'Swan Song', I figured to do one more chapter about Mike Franks' death. HA! Fat chance. There's going to be at least two more after this one before I can excise this demon from my head. I watched Pyramid. I think the _show_ gave Mike a nice send off. _My _send off is going to take place in the context of the little universe I've created here in 'El Viejo'. That means it's going to be off canon. I'd like to think Mike would appreciate that.

**Spoilers: **_**Swan Song and Pyramid. **_I'm also going to use material from earlier chapters in this story and any of my other stories that Mike Franks was in. **"Someday the Rains Will Fall" **by John Mellencamp played in the Season 7 episode 'Double Identity'.

_**Someday the rains will fall when you expect it least, someday the rains will fall. Someday the rains will fall when you expect it least, someday the rains will fall. When I first come down here from the country, came to a fork in the road. One way went nowhere and the other it carried a heavy load…**_

**Gibbs' Basement, Present Day, 2330hrs.**

The room was dark except for the strong lamp illuminating the work table. In the center of the table was an envelope. Senior Supervisory Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs sat and stared at it. He'd been doing so for the last twenty minutes. Occasionally he'd sip out of a glass jar of bourbon held in his hand. The case was over. The Port to Port Killer, Jonas Cobb was dead. Walk away. Except Gibbs could not. There was the little matter of his best friend and mentor laying in Drawer 107 of Autopsy to be attended to.

Jethro knew the letter before him contained some answers, but he was loath to pick it up and open it. Once he did so, Mike Franks' death would finally become a reality. During the last part of the case, it'd been easy to fool himself into thinking Mike was still around, just not _here._ But, as soon as Jethro got home and went into the guest room, that illusion was shattered. Mike's stuff was scattered around the room. Gibbs gathered it up on autopilot, trying not to think too much. When he went to put it all in the bag he found the envelope.

Now he was staring at it. "_Probie_" was written on the outside in Mike's messy scrawl. Jethro smiled a little.

_God, I'm gonna miss hearing that._

Over the years of their relationship, Mike called him many things. 'Gunny', 'Gibbs', 'Jethro'. But 'Probie', that, that was the one that defined them. Abby got it right that day in the lab. They were teacher and pupil, master and apprentice.

_I wonder what last lesson you've got for me Boss?_

Gibbs took a large gulp of bourbon, put down the jar and got his folder out, snapping it open. He slit open the envelope withdrawing the papers. Before unfolding them he slipped on his reading glasses and took a deep breath.

_Dear Jethro:_

_If you're reading this, it means this trip to help you was my last. That's okay; I'd rather have gone out on my feet than the way things were going to go. The coffin nails you've been ragging me about for years finally got me. I'm looking at the Big Casino, both lungs. Found out after I got back from La Paz. Went to a sawbones I know to make sure my amateur surgery wouldn't come back and bite me in the ass. Funny, I always thought I was gonna die of lead poisoning. I didn't tell Camilla, but I think she suspects. Amaya and Hope don't know either. I want you to keep it that way._

_I also don't want you to start feeling guilty about getting me up here when you need a hand. I know when you came down to see me after the Reynosa thing ended, Camilla unloaded on ya. "You'll be the death of him Leroy Jethro. He's getting too old for these fights!" I heard the whole thing through the kitchen window. Don't sweat it, she'll come around._

_After the canoe makers are done with me (God, I hope its Ducky), I want to be buried next to my son down in Mexico. My will and all the other legal crap is being held by my DC lawyers. You're down as the executor of my estate, such as it is. I want to be buried in my Dress Blues (yeah, they still fit wiseass). Means I 'm gonna need a high and tight and a shave. Can't guard heaven's streets lookin' like a refugee from Woodstock._

_Son, I 'm sorry that I've got to leave you like this. I always felt pretty lucky; I had two sons, both of whom were fine men. Though I 'm gone, I'll always be here for you. I can't physically back your play anymore, but with what I taught you, you'll do fine._

_Take good care of yourself Probie. Give Abby a big hug for me. Tell Ziva she'll make a damn fine American. Give DiNozzo a headslap and tell him it's on me. Give McGee a little more attention, he could use it._

_**Adios,**_

_Mike_

Gibbs folded the letter back up and stuffed it in the envelope. He picked up the jar and drained it in one swallow, heading for the stairs. Tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

**A/N: **Just a few observations about last night's episode. Is it just me or is the new SecNav just as creepy as the old one? And what's with Tony? In the past he's made such a big deal about keeping secrets, and now he's climbed right back into the jackpot again. Onward to Season 9. Oh, almost forgot. How 'bout a review y'all.


	35. Knockin' On Heaven's Door

**Disclaimer: DPB and Don McGill own the whole shootin' match. I just pretend like I can write and hope for the best.**

**Authors Note: **This is my take on Mike's funeral. I thought the show did a nice job on it. However, I think Mike would have wanted to be buried next to his son in Mexico. A couple of people asked me about this. I didn't just decide on it. There actually is accurate canon. In 'Iceman' when Gibbs and Mike are talking thru the fence to each other, Mike asks Gibbs to "have Ducky ship the body to my place in Mexico." That's why in 'Liam' he's there. Hope that clears up any confusion. This chapter ends my dealing with Mike's death in 'El Viejo'. There _**will**_ be more Mike stories here. But I've got one more story that I need to tell and _that _one will be in 'You Can See a Lot Just By Observing'. Stay tuned.

**Spoilers: **See the previous chapter.

_**Mama take this badge off of me, I can't use it anymore. It's getting' dark, too dark for me to see, I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door.**_

_**Knock, knock, knockin' on heaven's door.**_

_**Mama put my guns in the ground, I can't shoot them anymore. That long black cloud is comin' down, I feel I'm knockin' on heaven's door…**_

**Nuestra Senora del Perpetuo Cementeria de los Delores, Baja Mexico, Present Day, 1300hrs.**

The casket team stood on either side of the rear door of the hearse. Five US Marines in their Dress Blues and Special Agent Leroy Jethro Gibbs in his black suit. The Gunnery Sergeant in charge moved between them in that slow deliberate step that marks a military funeral. He reached the rear of the hearse and started to pull the flag draped casket out. As the casket emerged, the detail, each taking a handle took the weight. Off to the side, Pete Webster dressed in his kilt and holding his bagpipes began playing 'The Skye Boat Song'. As the team moved away from the hearse, the Gunnery Sergeant and the First Lieutenant in charge of the detail fell in behind.

As the casket moved towards the grave, the mourners followed. There were members of the American ex-pat community, some denizens of Carlos' Cantina and Sisters and the Mother Superior of the Little Sisters of the Poor. Leading them all was Mike Franks' closest family. Amaya, Hope and Camilla Charro. Harry Kearns and 'Chip' Thomas followed next. The last component was Team Gibbs. Abby clung red-eyed to Tim McGee. Ducky and Tony followed walking side by side. Ahead by the open grave, Father Enrique stood waiting. Beyond him approximately forty yards away, stood the three man firing party and the bugler.

The casket reached the grave and the mourners took their places around it. Amaya, Hope and Camilla seated and the rest standing. The body bearers lowered Mike Franks' mortal remains onto the frame over the grave. The bagpipes ceased skirling and Gibbs peeled off to stand behind Amaya. The Gunnery Sergeant made some minor readjustments to the flag and then led his detail off to the side. Father Enrique waited a beat and started the burial ceremony. When he finished the casket team returned surrounding the coffin. Gibbs' place was taken by a Marine. The firing party fired three volleys, startling Hope. The last echo of the shots ended and the bugler began to play Taps. As the mournful music poured forth, the casket team started folding the flag that covered Mike's coffin. The last fold was made by the Gunny making a perfect triangle. He took the folded flag in his arms, point up. Performing an 'About Face' he stood in front of his lieutenant. The lieutenant raised his hand slowly to the salute. After recovering he took the flag from the Gunnery Sergeant holding it point up. The Gunnery Sergeant then offered his own salute. The lieutenant strode over to Amaya and knelt down in front of her holding the flag waist high with the straight edge towards her. He leaned towards her and spoke.

"On behalf of the President of the United States, the Commandant of the Marine Corps and a grateful nation, please accept this flag as a symbol of our appreciation for your loved one's service to Country and Corps."  
The lieutenant then placed the flag in Amaya's hands, rose and rendered a slow salute. After recovering he moved off. Harry Kearns stepped forward and thanked everyone for coming and announced that there would be food and refreshments at Carlos' Cantina.

The mourners started to break up. As Amaya, Hope, Camilla and Team Gibbs started to walk away from the gravesite; Abby looked at Gibbs gesturing to a CD player she was holding.

"Would it be okay?"

Gibbs smiled gently.

"Yeah Abs, I think he'd like it."  
Abby pressed play and 'The Viper' poured forth from the small speakers.

**A/N: **The third story I'm going to do about Mike's death probably will be written tomorrow (Sat.) since I've got a shift at work. 'The Viper' was the song Abby played at Kate's funeral. I promise to get back to happier times after tomorrow's story gets written. Enjoy your weekend.


	36. It's Me Again Margaret

**Disclaimer: If anybody's making a profit here, it's the two Don's, certainly not little old me.**

**Authors Note: ** This story comes courtesy of **ThisLife 103.7. **In one of his reviews he asked me if I know Ray Stevens (I do) and if I knew his song 'It's Me Again Margaret' (I do not). So I went on YouTube and watched a video of the song. This story is loosely (and I do mean _loosely) _based on the song. We're back in the day and _**B G **_(**B**efore **G**ibbs).

**NIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton MCB, Tuesday April 11, 1989 0905hrs.**

Mike Franks sighed. It was only Tuesday and the week was looking like crap already. There were no cases over the weekend and nothing so far during the week. A couple of National Security Interviews (Aka background checks) were sitting on Mike's desk awaiting his pleasure. Mike leaned back in his chair and lit a cigarette. Across from him, Special Agent John Bailey was banging away at his typewriter finishing up a report. Several other agents in the bullpen were doing the same.

_BOOORing._

Mike contemplated his options. Maybe he'd take a ride over to Forensics and bug their tech, Bailey Coopersmith. This pleasant prospect was pushed out of his head by the grating voice of Special Agent Cody Jarrett.

"Agent Franks, the SAC wants to see you."

"All right Cody, thank you."

As Mike rose, John Bailey looked over.

"I hate that ferret faced schmuck."

Franks grinned.

"Ah, John, that's no way to talk about the lad. He performs an important function. After all, somebody has to brownnose the boss."

"If 'the Swede' ever makes an unscheduled hard right turn, that turd nugget's gonna need cosmetic surgery."

Laughing, Mike made his way down a side corridor to Erik 'the Swede' Jorgenson's office. The SAC had a year to go until his retirement. He told anyone who'd listen that he couldn't wait to get back to his native Minnesota, away from Southern California's heat and sameness of climate. Arriving at the SAC's door, Mike stuck his head in.

"'Ferret Face' said you wanted to see me Swede?"

Jorgenson looked up from the mass of paperwork on his desk.

"Yeah I did Mike. An' stop callin' the kid 'Ferret Face' willya?"

Franks dropped into the chair in front of his boss's desk.

"I can't help it if he looks like a ferret."

The Swede sighed knowing this was an argument he wouldn't win. He selected file from the numerous ones on his desk and tossed it towards Mike.

"Got a job for you. The Commanding General's wife is getting obscene phone calls at Quarters One. We're gonna put a stop to it."

Franks raised an eyebrow.

"That's a job for the MP's or Marine CID."

Jorgenson nodded.

"Well, as you can see by the size of the file, they've both taken a whack at it an' come up empty. The CG bitched to Headquarters Marine Corps, the Commandant bitched to SecNav, SecNav called the Director, who called the ADO who called me. Now, _you're _gonna take a whack at it and put this guy on ice."

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Why don't they just change the phone number at Quarters One and be done with it."

Now it was Jorgenson's turn to roll his eyes.

"'Cause this is the Old Man's Old Lady we're talking about. He wants this guy's hide nailed to the barn door. Get on it."

Mike stood taking the file.

"Swell."

As Franks moved towards the door, the SAC spoke.

"Oh yeah, take Bailey with ya. This way _both_ of you will be out of the office."

Mike returned to his desk and informed John Bailey of the glad tidings.

"Oh for the love of God. You're kidding, right?"

"Wish I was John."

Mike waved the file.

"See, here it is, in all its glory."

The two agents proceeded to pore over the file. The MP's and CID placed a trap on the Quarters One telephone_. _The mystery caller used at least five different payphones, all outside of the base. The calls came in at night. The earliest at 1830, the latest at 0100. Using their combined manpower, the MP's and CID put a dozen people in the field staking out all the phones. But it only lasted a week as higher priority cases came along. Bailey looked at Mike.

"So, they used a dozen guys and came up empty. We're gonna use two and lock this mope up."

Mike puffed out his chest and used his best office pogue voice.

"Of course we are Agent Bailey. After all, we're highly trained Special Agents of the Naval Investigative Service!"

At this they both cracked up. The rest of the guys in the bullpen rolled their eyes and giggled, shaking their heads. After regaining control of themselves, Mike and John decided to hit the road and check out the locations of the payphones and talk to the victim.

**Oceanside, CA, Friday, April 21, 1989 2200hrs.**

In the ten days since they'd been handed the 'phone pervert' case, he'd struck four more times. The General was seriously pissed and passed his displeasure up the chain. Naturally it came back _down _the chain. 'The Swede' did his best to shield his agents, but he called them in, ripped them a new one and stated with no uncertainty that he 'wanted this sicko locked up forthwith'. Mike and John hadn't been idle during this period. They re-interviewed General Mrs. Margaret Finch. From the interview, the agents gathered that while Mrs. Finch did not know _who _was making the calls, she wasn't as upset by them as she made out. Or as John Bailey said:

"The lady doth protest too much methinks."

Since there were at least five phone booths and only two of them, Mike and John decided to stakeout one booth and wait for their guy to use it. The booth they decided on had a bus stop bench within hearing distance of the phone.

So here they were, ten days into the case with 'the Swede' breathing down their neck. They were sitting in a beat up Chevy Caprice, watching the phone which was across the street. When the schedule said a bus was due, one of them would sit on the bench. Currently they were both in the car and bored out of their minds. John Bailey rolled his shoulders and sighed.

"So who do you think'll replace Jorgenson when he pulls the pin?"

Mike cracked his knuckles.

"I heard Applegate's got the inside track."

"Iron Ass?"

"One and the same."

Bailey grinned.

"You and him have some history don't ya?"

"Yeah, you might say that. When I came back from down South, I was assigned to the San Diego office. 'Iron Ass' was the SAC's fair haired boy. I was the red headed stepchild. So yeah, you could say we had some issues."

"Issues? I heard you threatened to feed him to Shamu."

Mike laughed.

"Nobody actually heard me say that. That's what Applegate said I said. No matter, I got transferred here, so everything turned out."

John looked at his watch.

"There's a bus due in fifteen."

Mike groaned.

"That goddamn bench is killin' my back."

"_Sin loi_, it's your turn."

"Doom on you Bailey."

As Mike grabbed a newspaper off the car seat and got out, John Bailey blew him a kiss.

"Don't go away mad sweetheart..."

Mike ignored his partner and crossed the street, taking a seat on the bench. A street light provided enough light to read the paper, so Mike pretended to do that while keeping an eye on the sparse pedestrian traffic.

_If we don't nail this guy soon, 'the Swede' is gonna ship our asses to Diego Garcia for sure._

Mike's thoughts were interrupted by a white male approaching the payphone. Thirties, medium height and build, neatly dressed. The guy wasn't nervous looking or furtive, but Mike's antenna was up. The guy dropped some change in the phone and dialed. Someone picked up on the other end. The guy smiled.

"It's me again Margaret. Are you naked?"

_**HOLY SHIT!**_

Mike jumped to his feet.

"_Federal Agent! You're under arrest!"_

The guy dropped the receiver and sprinted off with Mike in pursuit. Franks heard the screeching of tires and the blare of car horns. He figured John pulled a U-turn and was also in pursuit. The suspect was about fifteen feet in front of Mike and starting to pull away when the Caprice mounted the sidewalk and stopped in front of the suspect. Unable to stop, the man struck the fender and rolled over the hood, hitting the ground hard. With the wind knocked out him, the suspect was easily handcuffed and placed in the rear of the Chevy. John Bailey looked at Mike and grinned.

"Maybe you should stop smoking Mikey. He was starting to pull away."

Franks glared at his partner.

"I was just lulling him into a false sense of security. I had him all the way."

"Riiight."

Mike gave his fellow agent the finger.

"Let's get this perv back to the building. The paperwork's gonna be a killer."

John Bailey laughed.

"Whatever you say Speedy."

**A/N: **How'd I do Ben?


	37. The Ride

**Disclaimer: The below work of **_**fanfiction**_** is not being written for profit. NCIS is the intellectual property of Donald P Bellisario and Don McGill. Any other copyrighted material that may be mentioned here belongs to its owners. There, that takes care of all the legal mumbo-jumbo.**

**Authors Note: **I know I said that I was done talking about Mike Franks' death. However, a new reader of my stories, **Mapgirl**, pointed out that one of my OC's was not at Mike's funeral. Sure enough, she was right. So this story is going to fix that _faux pas._ Actually _two _of my OC's missed the funeral, so they're both here. Without further ado, enjoy 'The Ride'.

**Spoilers: **Well duh, **Pyramid**, and maybe some stuff from earlier seasons, you know _stuff_!

Also there is reference to my story "Murder Most Foul."

**Nuestra Senora del Perpetuo Cementeria de los Delores, three days after Mike Franks' funeral 1310hrs**

NCIS Special Agent Brett Place wheeled his rented car through the entrance to the cemetery. Four days ago he'd been in the Malaysian jungle. The terrorist group _Jemaah Islamiyah_ was planning a strike against some US Navy ships at Port Klang. The SAC of the NCIS Field Office in Singapore sent Brett to work with the Malaysian Army's _Grup Gerak Khas_ (Special Service Group). If the SSG found the JI's camp Brett hopefully could find some intel on the strike. The trail led to the Thai border. After two weeks of searching with no result, Brett's unit came out of the jungle. That's when he got 'the word' of Mike Franks' death and funeral. Getting from Malaysia to Baja Mexico is not an easy process.

_At least I'm finally here._

Brett could almost hear the whiskey and cigarette tinged growl.

_Better late than never Junior._

As Brett neared the chapel, he spotted a worker. His Spanish was a little rusty but should serve. As he rolled up on the man Place lowered his window.

"_Excuse me sir, but could you tell me where the grave of Michael Franks is located?"_

The man nodded and smiled.

"_Ah, 'El Viejo'. Yes, go down about seventy five meters and park. Walk to your right. The grave is at the top of the rise."_

"_Thank you."_

The man nodded and Brett drove forward. He parked his rental and got out. His body protested by making various cracking and popping noises. He also felt like he could sleep for a week.

_Not as young as I used to be._

As he walked towards Mike's grave, Brett started to sweat.

_Wearing a black suit was not one of my better ideas._

Brett reached the gravesite and stopped. On the left was the stone of Mike's son, Liam. On the right at the foot of a new grave was a green temporary marker.

"I made it Mike. Sorry I'm late."

Brett stared down at the freshly turned earth and memories of Mike came flooding back. Meeting Mike and John Bailey when he first transferred in from the Bremerton Field Office. Hearing the aforementioned giggling as Brett tried to open the Super Glued main drawer of his desk the next day. During the protection detail that threw them together, having Mike wake him by hitting him in the head with a shotgun shell. Working the Gibbs-Bailey homicides.

_Well, Mike worked it, I observed._

Mike was the one that got Brett the shot at Agent Afloat. It was the break that made his career.

_Now here I am and I couldn't even make the burial._

During his transit time Brett used his secure laptop to go over the 'Port to Port Killer' case. It's how he found out about Mike's cancer. Mike confronted Cobb outside Gibbs' house and was that "second and a half slow".

_At least he went out on his feet._

Brett wasn't sure how long he'd been standing there when he heard the slight noise to his rear. Later he would chalk his reaction up to tiredness and the fact he was only four days removed from a terrorist hunt in the jungle. The noise came again and Place pivoted to the left. His right hand swept the coattail away from the DeSantis Speed Scabbard. Two loose rounds in the outside pocket kept the coat away from the draw. The .45 Kimber Custom came out smoothly and was pointed center mass with the slack coming out of the trigger before Brett recognized the woman standing behind him. Her eyes were as big as fifty cent pieces. Brett lowered the .45.

"_Jesus Christ! _Damn Bailey, don't you know better than to walk up behind a guy like that?"

Former NIS forensic scientist Bailey Coopersmith gave Place a sickly looking smile.

"Sorry Brett. I was in the chapel and as I was coming out I saw you walking up here. Didn't want to disturb you."

Brett holstered the .45, his hand shaking slightly.

_I really gotta take some time off sometime soon._

"Okay Coop, but damn, be more careful. Were you at the funeral?"

"No, I got here just after. I was in Warsaw at a conference and my office didn't forward the message from Gibbs in time for me to get back on time."

"Did you get to talk to Gibbs?"

"Yeah, I did. He _looked _okay, but I could tell he was hurting."

Bailey reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope handing it to Place.

"The Boss left one for me and one for you. I've read mine already."

Brett took the envelope; his name was on the outside in Mike's scrawl. Bailey gave Place a grin.

"In light of the last few minutes, I'll wait by your car."

She moved away leaving Place turning the envelope over in his hands. Taking a balisong knife from his pocket he slit open the envelope.

_Brett:_

_If you're reading this, it means I've played my last hand. I'm sure by now you know what the case is all about. Gibbs was up against it and as always, I answered the bell. I'm also sure that by now you know I've got cancer in both my lungs. The prognosis is not good. I know I should have told both you and Bailey when I found out, but you know how I am. Other than Amaya and Hope, you, Bailey and Gibbs are the only family I've got. Sorry I kept it from you but I can't stand that whole 'keep your chin up, we're with you' shit. I went out on my own terms on my feet._

_I need you to do a couple of things for me. Next time you're in DC, look Gibbs up and make sure he's doin' okay. You guys have a lot in common and I'll feel better knowin' that you've connected. Hell, the way you're goin' he's probably going to wind up working for you! Keep an eye on Bailey too. She'll say she's fine but be freakin' out on the inside. Again, I'll feel better knowing you're checkin' on her. _

_That's pretty much all I've got Junior, except I want you to know that between you and Gibbs a man couldn't ask for two finer men to be surrogate 'sons'. It's been a helluva ride and I have no regrets. I know we'll see each other again someday. In the meantime, don't be scared, just enjoy your ride._

_**Adios,**_

_Mike_

Brett felt tears stinging the backs of his eyes as he folded the letter and put it back in the envelope. He looked down at the grave of his friend and mentor.

"See ya soon Mike."

Place walked to his car, where Bailey was leaning on the front fender.

"You okay Brett?"

"Yeah, I'm good. I could use a beer though. How 'bout you?"

Bailey smiled.

"A beer sounds very appropriate. Lead on."

**Carlos' Cantina, twenty minutes later**

Once at the bar, Brett got the beers while Bailey grabbed a table towards the back. As he walked to the table Brett regarded his former colleague.

Bailey was wearing Nikes, tan cargo pants and a pale blue polo shirt. The last time Brett saw her, Bailey's blond hair was shoulder length. Now it was past there and getting longer. Her hazel eyes were still warm, but slightly guarded. She still had the surfer girl tan and a very _fine _figure.

Bailey Coopersmith watched Brett walk towards her. The last time she'd seen him he'd been clean shaven. Now he had a mustache, his hair was shorter and swept back. Bailey blinked.

_Damn, if you looked quick, wearing that black suit, he looks like the Boss did when we were working together._

Brett reached the table and placed a beer in front of Bailey. He cocked an eyebrow.

"What?"

Bailey smiled.

"Nothing. Just woolgathering."

Brett shook his head, taking a seat facing the door.

_Women_

They talked and laughed telling stories of Camp Pendleton days. After about an hour and several beers, Bailey saw Brett stiffen. Following his gaze, she saw a short stocky Mexican in a grey suit standing near the door scanning the room. The man finally saw them and started in their direction. Bailey raised an eyebrow.

"Friend of yours?"

Brett gave her a tight smile.

"Not exactly. His name's Quinto Rios. Used to be Stefano Reynosa's bodyguard and right hand man."

"Reynosa? As in…"

"Yup, the Reynosa Cartel."

Rios reached their table and stopped.

"Hello Agent Place. It's been a long time."

"Not long enough Quinto."

If Rios was offended he didn't show it. He noted to himself that the NCIS agent had his beer in his left hand. His right was resting on his thigh. Rios gave Brett a tight smile.

"I'm unarmed."

Place gave a tight smile of his own.

"Sure. What can I do for you Quinto?"

"I'm trying to find out some information. I saw you come in here with _la rubia. _Well actually I saw her first and then you."

Rios smiled affably at Bailey. She shuddered a little.

Brett scowled at Rios.

"What could I possibly tell you?"

"I have heard that _'El Viejo' _is dead. Is it true?"

"Yes, it's true. They buried him three days ago."

"That is too bad. Where is he? I'd like to pay my respects."

Brett tried to keep his face impassive, but Rios saw.

"You are surprised? He was a warrior. Even as an adversary I can appreciate that. He deserves my respect."

Mollified, Brett gave the man directions. Quinto nodded.

"_Gracias. Buena suerte _Agent Place." Rios inclined his head at Bailey. "_Senorita."_

Rios moved off and Bailey let out a breath she didn't realize she'd been holding.

"That was interesting."

Brett smiled.

"Yeah, Quinto has that effect on people."

The rest of the day passed uneventfully. The next day the two friends parted at Ensenada Airport, vowing to meet again next year.

_**Well I know someday further down the road I'll come to the edge of the great Unknown There'll stand a black horse riderless And I'll wonder if I'm ready for this So I'll saddle him up and he'll switch his tail And I'll tip my hat and bid farewell And lift my song into the air That I learned at that dusty fair**_

"_**Sit tall in the saddle, Hold your head up high Keep your eyes fixed where the trail meets the sky and live like you ain't afraid to die**_

_**And don't be scared, just enjoy your ride"- **_**"The Ride", Chris LeDoux, 2005**

**A/N: **Okay, _now _I put Mike's death to bed. Hope you enjoyed it.


	38. It Don't Mean Nothin'

**Disclaimer: Any copyrighted material that is in this piece of **_**fanfiction**_** belongs to its creator, not to me. **

**Authors Note: **I've done several stories about Mike Franks in Vietnam. _This _story came about 'cause as usual **M E Wofford **wants to know more. She wanted a 'Coming Home' story. So, if you want to be up to speed, you can read 'Beer and Memories', 'Remembrance and Responsibility', 'The Arizona', 'Doom on You' and 'I've Seen the Elephant'. Not saying you won't enjoy this story if you don't, but it will provide some context. As I've said before, I've never been in the military or been to Vietnam, but I've known my fair share of Viet vets. Any errors or omissions are mine and mine alone. No disrespect is intended or implied.

**Dedication: **As we are closing in on July 4th, this chapter is respectfully dedicated to veterans. From the Sons of Liberty to the Continental Army to the current Armed Forces, they're the reason we're all going to be able to 'celebrate the great anniversary Festival…solemnized with Pomp and Parade, with Shews, Games, Sports, Guns, Bells, Bonfires, and Illuminations from one End of this Continent to the other..'. So, Jimmy O, Billy S, Richie G and my cousin Mike, this one's for you guys.

**Technical Notes:**

**Bronze Star with 'V' Device: **The Bronze Star is awarded by the US military for bravery, acts of merit, or meritorious service. When awarded for bravery, it is the fourth highest combat award and the ninth highest military award in the order of precedence of US military decorations. The 'V' device denotes the medal was earned in combat.

**Combat Action Ribbon: **a personal decoration of the USN, USMC, and USCG which is awarded to individuals who have actively participated in ground or surface combat.

**MOS: M**ilitary **O**ccupational **S**pecialty, your job in the Corps.

**0311: **Marine Corps MOS designator for rifleman.

**Dap: **Greeting between two people using shakes, slaps, snaps and other hand gestures. Legend has it that the dap started in Vietnam where it was used by African-American soldiers and Marines.

"**It Don't Mean Nothin'": **Catchphrase from the Vietnam War. Legend has it that is originated after the 1965 battle of the Ia Drang Valley. A reporter asked a GI about the heavy losses incurred by US troops and the soldier replied, "It Don't Mean Nothin'". GI's started using the phrase as a coping mechanism.

**LSU Campus, Delta Tau Chi Fraternity House, 2320hrs**

Six months ago Staff Sergeant Mike Franks USMC walked down the stairway from his Freedom Bird onto the tarmac of North Island NAS. He brought back with him several scars, the most prominent on his right thigh, a Bronze Star with 'V', three Purple Hearts, a Combat Action Ribbon and assorted other 'fruit salad'. There were also the memories, some good, some bad, and some horrible. Due to his eighteen month tour (the standard thirteen months plus a five month extension) Mike processed out of the Corps that day. When he'd enlisted the recruiting sergeant offered a two, three, or four year enlistment.

"_If you take the three or four year son, I can promise you you'll get your choice of MOS and duty assignment. Take the two year and you're a 0311 with a ticket to Vietnam."_

Mike took the two year. He had a personal reason for going to Vietnam, so the Marine Corps' plan and his coincided nicely.

Now he was back at LSU to finish his degree. His 'high and tight' has grown out and a newly cultivated mustache graced his face. Mike was living off campus in an apartment with three other veterans who were taking advantage of the GI Bill to finance their education.

Mike was currently standing in the backyard of the Delta Tau Chi frat house. "Dazed and Confused" by the new band Led Zeppelin poured out of speakers in the upper windows of the house. There were at least a hundred people milling about in the yard mostly drinking, though some were eating. Mike was nursing a cup of beer. He was here because there was a possibility that Marcella Gerrard was somewhere in the throng. They shared a Philosophy class. She let slip that she might be here, so Mike was here. He'd been chatting her up for a week angling for a date. As he scanned the crowd he felt like someone was watching him. It was the same feeling he'd gotten while in the Arizona.

_Ease up Mikey; this is home, not the 'Nam._

Even so, he started to carefully check his surroundings. Then he spotted them. Three guys standing on the far side of a line of kegs. When he made eye contact, two of them looked away, but the third did not. He said something to the other two and started to make his way over to Franks. He was medium height short hair, wearing a white t-shirt and jeans. As he got closer Mike spied the logo on the t-shirt, 'NAVY ROTC'.

_Oh Lordy._

The guy stopped in front of Mike.

"Are you Mike Franks?"

"Who wants to know?"

"My name's Thad Givens. I take some classes with Andy Thornton."

Mike raised an eyebrow.

"'Doc' Thornton?"

Doc was one of Mike's roommates, a former Navy Corpsman, now studying to be a doctor.

"Yes, he pointed you out to me."

"And?"

"I'm in Navy ROTC. I'll be commissioning at the end of the year. I took the Marine Corps option, so I'll be a Second Lieutenant when I graduate. Andy said you just got back from Vietnam."

Mike was not sure he liked where this was going to go.

"And?"

"What was it like?"

Franks sighed. He'd spent the last six months trying to put Vietnam behind him. He went, did what he had to, getting some payback for the death of his childhood best friend and now he was home. But the 'Nam kept coming back, like that annoying cousin your Mom wanted you to be nice to at family parties. Mike sighed again.

"It was hot, humid, smelled like burning shit and diesel fuel with a little rotting vegetation thrown in. Oh yeah, and these little rice propelled motherfuckers were trying to kill me the whole time. That pretty much sums it up."

"What unit were you with?"

"First of the Ninth Marines."

Givens looked impressed.

"That's 'the Walking Dead'."

"Very good Mr. Givens. I guess they are teaching you something."

"What was combat like?"

Mike sipped his beer and sighed again.

"Mr. Givens, I could tell ya, but ya wouldn't believe me. It's kinda like talkin' to a virgin about sex."

Givens frowned and started to speak. Mike raised a hand.

"Listen, I'm not givin' you a hard time. If you're commissioning in the Marines you'll find out soon enough on your own about combat. In the meantime I'll give you some free advice from a platoon sergeant's perspective. You game?"

Thad nodded.

"Okay. Number one, most important, put your people first. You don't eat until after they do, you don't sleep 'til they've got a place to sleep. Number two; listen to your platoon sergeant. He'll help keep you alive long enough to learn your job. And when you get back..."

_IF you get back..._

"..we'll talk again and I'll answer any question you've got."

With that, Mike took a scrap of paper and the nub of a pencil that was in his pocket and wrote out his parents address. He handed it to Givens who took it and looked at Mike.

"That's it?"

Mike grinned.

"Yeah. You were expecting maybe the key to everlasting knowledge?"

Givens laughed.

"No, I guess not. Thanks for the talk; I'll definitely look you up when I get back."

With that Givens walked back to his friends.

After Givens went back to his buddies, Mike pulled out his cigarettes and lit one. Prior to Vietnam, Mike wasn't a smoker. One prolonged mortar barrage early in his tour took care of that. As he smoked his smoke and sipped his beer Franks watched his contemporaries cavort in the backyard of the frat house.

_Hard to believe half a world away guys are losing their lives, limbs, and minds._

Mike shook his head, trying to clear it. While still in Vietnam he'd heard horror stories of guys coming home to yowling protesters wielding signs and throwing bags of dogshit. When he came home there was…indifference. People around his hometown of Alexandria were puzzled; "You were gone? Where? Vietnam! Was it horrible?"

_Well, yeah._

And that was pretty much it.

Mike was all psyched up to defend himself and there was nothing to defend from. Even here at LSU, the demonstrations were pretty tame.

_Face it Mikey, you just want an excuse to bust heads._

He laughed to himself and heard a sweet voice from behind.

"Do you always just laugh at nothing?"

Mike slowly turned his head and looked into the amused brown eyes of Marcella Gerrard. Long black hair, 5' 2", Creole accent, wearing a tight white tank top and cut off jean shorts.

"Only if it's funny."

Marcella laughed.

"This is the last place I expected to see you. I thought you said frat boys were 'mindless jerks'."

Mike smirked.

"Yeah, I may have said that. But, their beer is cold."

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"Well darlin', spend eighteen months drinkin' warm beer and it means a lot."

"You're a strange guy."

"I've been told that. Can I get you a beer?"

"Sure."

Mike walked over to the kegs and drew off two beers. As he walked back, he saw Marcella talking with a scruffy looking white guy wearing a Ho Chi Minh t-shirt. As he got closer, the conversation got clearer.

"Why are you talkin' to that baby killer?"

"Because Jerry, he's nice and I don't think he's killed any babies."

Mike walked up smiling and handed Marcella both beers, figuring he'd need two hands for what may come next.

"Yeah _Jerry, _I'm _nice_ and the only people I've ever killed were trying to kill me."

Jerry snorted.

"You were nothing but the tool of imperialistic warmongers waging war on peasants."

Mike could feel the familiar rush starting to build. He slid his left foot slightly forward, blading his body toward Jerry. Franks started to raise his hands…

Suddenly he felt a large hand on his shoulder and a rumbling voice came from behind him.

"Easy bro, it don't mean nothin'."

Mike didn't need to turn around to know who was there. It was Andy Thornton, big as a Coke machine and black as the inside of a closed closet.

Jerry looked confused.

"Andy, you know this guy?"

Thornton grinned.

"'Course I do. He's my brother from another mother. We've both come from the same place. A place I might add you'll never go to. And for that you should thank whatever God it is you pray to."

Jerry snorted.

"Yeah like…."

Andy raised his other hand.

"Jerry, why don't you run along and make some signs or something before you make some dumb-ass comment that causes me to pound ya."

Jerry opened and closed his mouth, shrugged and walked away. Andy took his hand off Mike's shoulder and stepped around in front of him.

"Mikey, what have I told you about antagonizing hippies?"

"Aw c'mon Andy, I wasn't gonna do anything."

"Yeah right. Who's your friend?"

"Shit, I'm sorry. Marcella Gerrard, Andy Thornton."

"Nice to meet you Marcella. Watch yourself around this one. He's slick."

Marcella laughed.

"Oh, I think I can handle him. I think I can even be able to improve his people skills."

Andy laughed too.

"Riiight. Well, my work is done here."

Andy extended his closed fist and he and Mike exchanged a short dap.

"See ya Andy."

After Thornton walked away, Mike turned to Marcella.

"Whatta say we get outta here and fine someplace we can work on my 'people skills'?"

**A/N: **Before anyone asks think Bear from the movie "Armageddon" when you think about Andy. Have a great 4th of July.


	39. It Does Mean Something

**Disclaimer: The usual lah-de-da goes **_**HERE.**_

**Authors Note: **When I do a story, I write it out longhand first, proofread it and then type it up. When I was writing the previous chapter _this _story was already starting to form in my head. Soo, I outlined it, did some research and _TA-DA_ here it is. Hope you enjoy.

_**WARNING! WARNING! **_In the context of the story I'm going to use the "N" word and drop a couple of f-bombs. Hide the kiddies.

**Bayou Bob's, Friday 2220hrs.**

Andy Thornton was feeling pretty good. A week ago he'd met a girl at the LSU Athletic Center. It wasn't a chance meeting. Actually it took a week to set up. The girl in question was Annie Stuart. Andy'd seen her in the gym shooting hoops. It was a pickup game with some of her teammates. Andy was in lust. Being on the large side, Andy had a thing for big girls. Annie fit the bill. She was six feet tall with blond hair and brown eyes. From Indiana, she would probably start for the Lady Tigers when basketball season got underway. After they 'met', Andy asked her if she wanted to go for coffee between classes. She agreed. Andy got her to agree to go out for pizza and a movie. So now they were in Bayou Bob's sharing a pitcher of beer after seeing 'Love Story'.

"That was so sad. I felt really bad for Ryan O'Neal's character."

Andy took a contemplative sip of his beer.

"Don't ya think the whole thing was a little cliché?"

Annie frowned.

"I thought it wasn't cliché at all. They were totally in love."

Andy took another sip of beer.

"Okay, I get that. But the whole 'he finds the girl, marries the girl, the girl becomes terminally ill and dies' that's not cliché?"

Another frown.

"Men."

Andy grinned and enveloped her hand in his.

"I guess we could just agree to disagree?"

Annie grinned back.

"Sure, we could do that."

"Whatta ya say we go back to my place. I've got a bottle of Jamaican rum. I'll make you rum and Cokes."

Earlier in the week, Annie let slip that rum made her a little amorous. Her eyes widened slightly.

"How'd you know I liked rum?"

Andy smiled. She obviously didn't remember.

"A little bird told me. So?"

"What about your roommates?"

Andy, who was a former Navy Corpsman, shared a place with three other veterans, one of whom was Mike Franks.

"Well, the two dogfaces are probably out chasing anything in a skirt with a pulse. My other roomie, Mike might be home, but with him ya never know."

Annie grinned.

"I guess there's only one way to find out. Let's go."

As the two college students left the bar, they didn't notice the table full of 'townies' that'd been shooting them venomous looks. After Andy and Annie left, the men got up and followed.

**Andy's place, twenty minutes later.**

Mike Franks was lying on his rack reading "The Big Sleep" by Raymond Chandler. Normally on a Friday night he'd be out tomcatting around. However, at a frat party several weeks ago he'd met Marcella Gerrard. So, tomcatting was over. Being part Creole, Marcella was the jealous kind and Mike was fond of his 'boys'. Marcella was down in New Orleans visiting relatives, so instead of drinking and 'other pursuits' Mike was in just his skivvy drawers reading Raymond Chandler.

_How pathetic is this._

Mike sighed. His roommates were out. 'The Dogface Twins' (they'd been buddies in the First Air Cavalry) were chasing tail. His other roomie, Andy was on a date with his basketball Amazon. When the whole pursuit of Annie Stuart started, Mike warned Andy to be careful. Sure, Baton Rouge was a college town, but it was still the South. Andy'd laughed it off. He was from Michigan so it didn't seem that big a deal to him. Mike assured him that it could _become_ a big deal.

_Maybe I'll get dressed and wander down to Bayou Bob's. That's where they were gonna wind up._

Mike's bedroom was at the back of the second floor. Towards the front he heard the rumble of raised voices. Then, there was a very distinct "We're gonna have to teach you a lesson nigger."

Franks was off his bed and at his closet in no time. He reached up onto the top shelf into a shoebox and pulled out a .357 Colt Python. As he ran out of his room he snapped open the cylinder to check the loads.

_All good._

Mike came down the stairs and stopped at the front door to steady his breathing. He eased open the screen door and stepped onto the porch, his bare feet making no sound. Andy Thornton was on the front walk in front of the steps. Annie was on the steps one step up. In front of Andy, arranged in a semi-circle were five white guys. Two were holding bats, one a bicycle chain, one a pipe and the last a large long bladed knife. The guy in the center holding a bat spoke.

"We're gonna fuck you up boy."

Franks raised the Python, cocking the hammer back at the same time.

"I don't think so Poindexter."

The sound of the hammer being cocked caused everybody to look up. The guy who spoke looked confused.

"Who the fuck're you?"

Mike grinned tightly.

"I'm the guy that's gonna put holes in you peckerheads unless you get outta my yard."

"Butt out; this has nothing to do with you."

"I disagree. See, this large black gentleman happens to be a friend of mine. You boys are not. So unless you have a desire to meet your Maker early, I suggest you leave now."

"There's five of us and only two of you."

"That's right. But my 'friend' here holds six rounds, which means one of you is gonna get shot twice."

"You'd shoot us."

Mike gave the man a 'are you kidding me?' look.

"Pal, I just spent eighteen months _killing _better men than you. Bet your ass I'd _shoot _you."

The men started shuffling their feet and looking at each other.

"And in case you're thinking you'll just finish this some other time, don't. I've seen all your faces. I even recognize a couple of ya from Bayou Bob's. That's why the Klan is smart enough to use hoods."

With his free hand Mike pointed at Andy.

"Between now and the time he graduates, if _anything _happens to him, I'll track each one of you down and snatch the life right out of ya. Now _GIT!"_

The five men moved off grumbling. Andy and Annie stepped up next to Mike and watched them leave. Andy grinned at Mike.

"Nice skivvies."

**The house, Saturday morning, 0630hrs.**

Mike Franks has already been up for an hour. Sober or hung over he wakes up at 0530 everyday. During the week since he's up that early he runs and then does some calisthenics. Weekends he usually rolls over and goes back to sleep. This morning though he decided to get up and make a pot of coffee. Now he had his feet up on the front porch railing smoking the day's first cigarette and sipping from a large mug of black coffee.

Last night Mike went back upstairs to his room closing the door, giving Andy and Annie a chance to process what happened. Things must have gone okay, because after about fifteen minutes Mike heard two sets of steps coming upstairs. Ten minutes after that, Mike learned that Annie was a screamer.

Franks heard footsteps on the stairs. Andy Thornton came onto the porch. He looked tired. Mike grinned up at his friend.

"Coffee's on stud."

Andy grunted.

"Not right now."

Thornton grabbed a chair and spun it around placing his forearms across the top.

"Thanks for last night."

Mike shrugged saying nothing.

"I mean it man, those guys were serious."

Mike sighed.

"I told ya Andy. Things may be changing, but this is still the South. Some people are not going to take kindly to you and Annie hooking up."

"What about you? You're from around here."

"That's true. But regardless of how the country sees it, I just spent eighteen months and a pint and a half of blood defending your right to go out with who you want to, to do what you want to with that person behind closed doors. And where I come from doesn't enter into that. I wasn't about to let five peckerheads with a combined IQ that doesn't reach room temperature piss all over that."

"Would you really have shot those guys?"

"You bet your ass."

"Jeeez…"

"Listen Doc, don't worry. Those guys'll think twice before tryin' anything else. Annie okay?"  
"Yeah, she was a little freaked out at first."

"She seemed to recover well."

Andy grinned.

"Yes she did."

Andy stood.

"Thanks again man."

Mike looked up grinning.

"Don't mean nothin' brother."

Andy looked down at Franks, placing his hand softly on Mike's shoulder.

"That's where you're wrong Mikey, it does mean something."

**A/N: **When I proofread this, I was like 'cliché much?' (Used that word a lot in this fic for some reason) As I said up top, this chapter came out of my head practically at the same time as the other. So what do you think? Review if you dare.


	40. The Plan

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of another. I just write about it and in my own small way hope to add to the enjoyment of my fellow fans.**

**Dedication: **This one's for **elflordsmistress (**aka **jibbsloversunited)** who's now back in the lineup with her story "Scenes from a Relationship". If you consider yourself a Jibbs fan you need to read this story. So do it now…uh, after you read my story of course!

**Authors Note: **One of the reasons I write Mike Franks stories is there is so much room to expand the character. The writers have given us little snippets. Mike served in Vietnam, and has a brother (_Hiatus_ flashbacks). After that, everything is fair game. Though I haven't touched on the brother, if you've been following along you know I worked the Vietnam arc from being there to coming home. Now I'm going to start an arc about Mike prior to his joining NIS/NCIS. Mike retired in 1996. I'm going on the premise that he had at least twenty years in. That means he joined the agency somewhere around 1976. In the little 'Mikeverse' I've created, Mike came home from Vietnam in '69. He'd already been at LSU and promised his folks he'd finish his education when he got home. I made Mike a native of Louisiana because Muse Watson is from Alexandria. For the purposes of this story Mike attended LSU from about 1970 to 1972. I'm not sure how many chapters are going to be in this arc. The _plan _is for there to be at least two or three after this one. It's going to depend on the reaction I get. No reaction, no more chapters. I'm going to write this chapter so it will be able to stand alone. Hope you like it.

"_No plan of operations extends with certainty beyond the first encounter with the enemy's main strength."-_** Helmuth Karl Bernhard Graf von Moltke, 1871.**

**Marie's Café, St. Ann St., near Bourbon St. New Orleans, Sunday June 17, 1973 0913hrs.**

Mike Franks had a plan. The operative word being _had. _Back in high school the plan looked real good. Since he'd always been good with numbers, he would go to college and study accounting. After graduating he'd get a job and sit in air conditioning all day. It would sure beat what his Dad did, working in a machine shop ten hours a day. The plan progressed nicely. Mike got a baseball scholarship to LSU. Things were going great there until his best friend in the world was killed in Vietnam. Mike joined the Marines and spent eighteen months in the 'Nam. Before he left he promised his mother he would come home and finish his degree. So he came home, went back to LSU on the GI Bill and got his degree.

After graduation he landed a job with Briscoe and Laval, an accounting firm in New Orleans. The plan was going great. Except now, two years into the job, Mike was not happy. He felt like something was missing and couldn't put his finger on what that something was. Every day he had to drag himself to work and once there all he wanted to do was get out. So for the last three Sundays he left his second floor walkup on Barracks St., walked down Bourbon to St. Ann St. and sat in Marie's drinking _cafe au lait _and eating _beignets, _while perusing the employment section of the Times-Picayune. Franks was on his second cup of coffee and halfway thru the want ads when he heard a voice.

"_Bon jour Monsieur."_

Mike looked up from his paper into a pair of warm brown eyes. The eyes belonged to Marie LeClerc, the owner. In her seventies, but looking a decade younger, she smiled at Mike who had automatically stood.

"Uh, good morning."

"May I join you?"

"Yes, by all means."

A waiter appeared as if by magic, pulling out her chair and placing a cup of coffee before her. Mike retook his seat.

"I trust everything is to your satisfaction _Monsieur…_"

"Franks, Mike Franks. And yes ma'am it is."

"Call me Marie. "Ma'am" makes me sound old."

Mike nodded.

"Marie then."

"I try to get to know my regular customers, and I noticed this is the third Sunday you've come in."

"I like your _beignets_."

Marie smiled.

"_Merci._"

Unconsciously as they were talking Mike picked up his cigarettes and shook one loose from the pack, lighting it. When he realized, he looked sheepish.

"Sorry, I…"

Smiling Marie removed a flat box of _Gitanes _from a pocket and touched Mike's Zippo that was lying on the table.

"May I?"

"Of course."

Marie picked up the lighter, flipped up the lid and thumbed the flint wheel. After lighting her cigarette she examined the lighter, noting the inscription and the Marine Corps emblem.

"You fought in Vietnam with the Marine Corps?"

"I did. It was a very interesting eighteen months."

Marie's face clouded.

"My older brother died there fighting the Viet Minh in 1953."

"It's a shitty place."

Marie nodded sadly.

"But still and all, very beautiful."

Seeing Mike's cup was empty, the waiter brought him a fresh one. Mike sipped and sighed appreciatively. Marie smiled.

"You enjoy our _café au lait_?"

"Yes I do."

"Even though we use chicory?"

"That's how my Mom makes it, so no problem."

Marie gestured to the newspaper.

"Looking for a job?"

Mike laughed.

"I've got a job. Just not the one I think I want anymore."

Mike went on to explain about 'the plan' and his feeling now that he was not cut out to spend the next twenty years being an accountant. Marie nodded.

"When did this feeling start?"

"After I got back from 'Nam."

"Your perspective has changed, because you have changed. You've learned more about yourself."

Franks looked dubious.

"Sounds logical, I guess."

Marie stood tapping the paper.

"I'm sure you'll find something that will be more to your liking. _Bon chance."_

After Marie left, Mike went back to the want ads. Towards the back, he found an ad from the Orleans Parish District Attorney. They were looking for forensic accountants.

_Bingo._

**Federal District Courthouse, 500 Poydros St. Thursday May 15, 1975 1145hrs.**

Investigator Mike Franks was walking out of the courthouse when he heard a voice calling his name.

"Hey Franks, Mike Franks!"

Mike turned his head and saw a tall lanky individual waving. He stopped waiting for the guy to walk up. When he reached Mike, he stuck out his hand.

"Neil Downey, from LSU. Remember?"

The light bulb went off in Mike's head. Downey was a year ahead of him. He'd been an officious prick. Mike grasped Downey's hand and gave it a quick shake.

"Yeah, right. How ya doin' Neil?"

"Good, good. What're you doing here?"

"Hadda see an AUSA."

Neil grinned.

"Not in a jam are you?"

Mike glared.

"Nah, I'm working a job with the DEA."

Downey raised an eyebrow.

"You with NOPD?"

"Orleans Parish District Attorney's Office."

For the past two years Mike worked for the DA's office, first as a forensic accountant. After a year and a case where he went into the field when he shouldn't have, Mike was now a criminal investigator. Neil nodded.

"I'm with the FBI myself. Hey, how 'bout we go to lunch? Catch up."

Franks considered for a minute.

"Only if Uncle's buyin'. I'm just a poor parish employee after all."

Downey laughed.

"I think I can expense this one. Let's go."

The two men decided to go to Mother's Restaurant a couple of blocks down Poydros St. Since it was early in lunch hour the wait for a table wasn't too long and soon they were seated. They both ordered po' boy sandwiches and beer. It quickly became apparent that Downey liked the sound of his own voice, so Mike let him talk, sipping his beer and throwing out a "Yeah?" or "Really?" every once in a while to make it sound like he was listening. Then he heard the words "goddamn cowboys" and snapped back into the conversation.

"Cowboys?"

Neil looked annoyed.

"Yeah, cowboys. We had this sweet case involving a Navy chief selling a couple of .50 cals that were scheduled to be demilitarized. Then these cowboys from NIS came in and snatched it right out from under me."

_Any outfit that can piss off this tool sounds good to me._

"NIS?"

Downey nodded.

"Yeah, Naval Investigative Service. Bunch of retread MP's. They investigate cases involving the Navy and Marines. That case turned into a major arms selling case an' those bastards took it over."

The rest of lunch passed by quickly and the two men parted company back at the courthouse. Downey going back upstairs and Mike retrieving his car from the parking garage. Back at the DA's office, Mike found a copy of the US Government Manual. Under the Department of the Navy, he found a listing for NIS with the address. Franks tilted his chair back and lit a cigarette, blowing smoke at the ceiling. Several smokes later Mike reached for a piece of letterhead paper and rolled it into his typewriter.

**Mike's apartment building, Tuesday, April 20, 1976, 1000hrs.**

Mike Franks was beat. The homicide he'd been working involved the death of a New Orleans PD vice cop. To make things even more complicated Det. Brad Cousins was a dirty cop. Even with all that, seventy two hours of work solved the case. Now all Mike wanted was _sleep. _There were six apartments in Mike's building. The landlady arranged everyone's mail on a table in the lobby. Mike's pile was pretty large. Right on top was a thick envelope. The return address in the left corner was "Department of the Navy, Naval Investigative Service, Washington Navy Yard, Washington, DC." Remembering back to his senior year of high school and college acceptance letters, thin was bad, thick was good.

Sure enough, when he opened the envelope with his balisong knife the opening lines jumped out at him.

_Mr. Franks, congratulations on being accepted for employment as a Special Agent of the Naval Investigative Service."_

The rest of the packet was housekeeping. He had to report to the Naval Support Activity New Orleans for his pre-training physical. He would also be picking up his travel vouchers, as he would be traveling to "NIS headquarters for orientation and preliminary training at government expense." His reporting date to Washington was two weeks away. Mike cast a look up the stairway towards his apartment.

_Sleep'll have to wait. I gotta write a two week's notice letter._

Turning on his heel and heading out of his building, the words he'd thought when his Freedom Bird left Vietnam came back to him.

_Welcome to the first day of the rest of your life._

**A/N: **So there she is. As I said at the top, I'll do some more in this arc if I get a good response. Otherwise this is my take on Mike coming to NIS. Let me know what you think.


	41. Wheels

**Disclaimer: NCIS and any other copyrighted type material that may appear in this work of **_**fanfiction **_**is the sole property if its owner(s) and does not belong to **_**me.**_

**Authors Note: **Since I updated my 9/11 story, my muse has been on vacation (aka writer's block). But I finally watched the season opener and a whole bunch of ideas hit me. This is the first one to pop out. It's a Mike story that continues the arc I started in the previous chapter and a tag for "Nature of the Beast" sort of.

**Spoilers: **Small ones for the Season Nine opener, "Nature of the Beast", "Swan Song and Judgment Day (pt. 2).

**Technical Notes and other random stuff: **Prior to 1984 NIS/NCIS did not send its agents to standardized training. They apparently handled it in-house. After 1984 agents were sent to FLETC for the CITP (Criminal Investigators Training Program). So as I've said in the past, I figured they didn't have a standard handgun until then either. Kind of fits the "cowboy" image I think. In-house agent training was conducted at the Suitland Federal Center in Suitland MD. SFC is also the HQ of the Office of Naval Intelligence. Speaking of agency headquarters, NCIS HQ is apparently no longer aboard the Washington Navy Yard. It now is in the Russell Knox Building aboard Quantico MCB.

"_When I first started travelin'_

_I left home when I was young..."_

**NIS trainee classroom, Suitland Federal Center, Suitland, MD Monday, August 16, 1976 1345hrs**

NIS Special Agent trainee Mike Franks was completing his out-processing paperwork. Along with his twenty nine fellow trainees Mike is scheduled to graduate in two days. Today is a day for last minute paperwork and training program exit interviews. Franks leaned back in his chair and sighed.

_I hate paperwork…and I _need _a cigarette._

During training smoke breaks were every hour on the hour. Today for whatever reason, the cadre decided no smokes until the paper was pushed. Overall Mike was happy with his performance during training. Almost all his classmates had a deep background in law enforcement, either former MP Investigators or civilian detectives. With only eighteen months as a District Attorney's Investigator, Mike was the least experienced in his class. But what he lacked in experience he made up for with an eye for detail and an innate ability to 'read' a crime scene. The real area where Mike excelled though was the last two weeks. Firearms training. Week one was safety and long guns, assault rifles and shotguns. Week two was pistols. During long gun week, Franks came in second in the class, beaten by a fellow former Marine. The margin was only three points. During pistol week, despite being the only trainee using a revolver, Mike made it to the final three in the shoot off before being eliminated. Mike smiled to himself.

_Not bad for a wheelgun jockey. Ah well back to the paper..._

After ten more minutes of writing, Franks signed the last page and slipped the forms into their folder. He caught the eye of the instructor proctoring the class. Holding up the folder with one hand he mimed lighting a cigarette with the other. The instructor rolled his eyes, but gave Franks the nod. Mike left the classroom and walked outside. It was a muggy Maryland afternoon. He lit a cigarette and blew a stream of smoke out thru his nose.

_Two more days and graduation. Wonder if I'll draw a good office assignment._

According to the scuttlebutt, probationary agent office assignments were totally random. He could wind up in Naples Italy or Bremerton Washington or any of a couple dozen offices around the globe.

_Naples'd be nice._

Thinking of Puget Sound in winter made him shudder. Behind him, he heard the fire door open. Mike looked over his shoulder to find one of the instructors looking at him.

"Let's go Franks. Time for your exit interview."

"Yes Sir."

Mike put out his smoke on the sole of his shoe; field stripped the butt and put the filter in his pocket. He followed the instructor back into the building and down the hall to a closed door. The instructor opened the door and gestured Mike inside. Franks stepped through the door and it closed behind him. The room was empty except for a desk, a straight backed chair and a big blocky looking guy rising to his feet from behind the desk. The guy extended his hand.

"Good afternoon Agent Franks. My name is Special Agent Paul Freeman."

Mike shook his hand.

"Good afternoon sir."

Sitting, Freeman gestured to the chair in front of the desk.

"Have a seat, the smoking lamp is lit."

Freeman pushed an ashtray across the desk towards Mike. He immediately took advantage lighting a cigarette.

"Agent Franks, can I call you Mike?"

"Sure sir."

"Mike, I'm the Special Agent in Charge of the Research and Analysis Unit."

Franks looked confused.

"We studied the NIS Table of Organization and I don't remember seeing that."

Freeman smiled.

"You won't. I report directly to the Secretary of the Navy. My unit's sole mission is force protection. If there is a threat to the Fleet, it's our job to find out about it and then stop it."

Mike took a drag on his smoke.

"What's that got to do with me?"

"Every trainee class is evaluated looking for personnel we could use. You have some qualifications that we're looking for."

"Such as what?"

Freeman leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers a small smile playing at his lips.

"You have a penchant for thinking and _acting_ outside the box. You speak Spanish and some Creole and you have a healthy disrespect for authority."

Mike chuckled.

"I'd think that last one would be a problem."

Freeman shook his head.

"For my unit, it sometimes is an asset."

"So, if I went to work for you, where would I be assigned?"

"_If _you come to work for me, you'll be assigned to a Field Office like any other agent. Your affiliation to RAU _is not_ to be disclosed to anyone, and I mean _anyone._ That is up to and including the office SAC. You'll work your normal assignments, but if you receive a tasking from RAU that will take priority."

"But how…"

Freeman smiled.

"Outside the box, Agent Franks."

"Riiight, got it."

Freeman sat forward in his chair.

"Before we talk more, I'm going to need your commitment."

Mike gave it about ten seconds of thought.

"I'm in."

"Splendid."

Freeman produced several documents for Mike to sign, including a Non Disclosure Agreement. After reading everything but not signing it, Mike looked at Freeman.

"This stuff basically says that while I'm working a tasking for you, I'm on my own. If it turns to shit, I was wildcatting."

"That's correct. A rogue agent, taking matters into his own hands."

Franks shrugged.

"Ah, what the hell."

Mike signed the paperwork and Freeman gathered it up placing it in a folder.

"Now that you're in, I'll explain a little of how things are done. Before you move to your Field Office assignment there'll be a more in depth brief. During your probation you will get no taskings. Learn your job; cultivate contacts that you think may be useful for your taskings. You were originally assigned to the Field Office at Great Lakes. We've changed that to the San Diego office. You'll be able to improve your Spanish and it's closer to the area we'll want you to operate in. As you know, illegal drugs are becoming more and more prevalent in society. Vietnam really ramped up use in the armed forces. Cocaine is becoming a problem and SecNav wants its use by our sailors and Marines nipped in the bud. After your probation you'll be assigned somewhere in Central or South America. Along with other government agencies, NIS is going to put on a maximum effort to curtail the cocaine business. _You _are going to be a major part of that effort. You up for it?"

Mike nodded his head.

"Whatever it takes."

**Offices of Dewey, Cheetum & Howe, Attorneys at Law, Silver Springs, MD, Three days before Mike Franks' death.**

_**Vance: **__"Decker's insurance policy, what's in it?"_

_**Franks: **__"You can read it for yourself…I'll leave it for you…in my will._

**Judgment Day (Pt. 2)**

Mike Franks sat in the waiting area of his lawyer's office. Franklin Howe has been Mike's attorney in DC since '96. But their association goes back farther than that. Howe had been a Lance Corporal in Mike's platoon in Vietnam. His prowess with the M-79 grenade launcher earned him the sobriquet 'Thumper', the M-79 being nicknamed 'the thump gun'. 'Thumper' Howe came home from the 'Nam, and using the GI Bill became a lawyer. Mike ran into him at a 1/9 reunion in '95 and engaged his services when he retired. Today Franks was going to give Howe an envelope to hold for Gibbs. In the envelope was a key to a storage locker in Lorton Virginia. In the locker was a box containing Wil Decker's 'insurance policy'.

_If anything happens to me, the Probie should be able to put that shit to good use._

The phone on the receptionist's desk purred, snapping Mike back to reality.

"Yes sir, I'll send him in."

The woman smiled at Mike.

"Mr. Howe can see you now, Mr. Franks."

Mike stood and smiled, moving towards the door of his lawyer's office.

"Thanks darlin'."

"_Never gonna quit_

_are you_

_Ever gonna slow down…"_

**A/N: **While I'm not 100% sure, I do believe we got our first look at Decker's 'insurance policy' at the end of "Nature of the Beast." When Mike took it out of NCIS towards the end of "Judgment Day", it came out of a very similar looking box. What do you all think? And if like me you thought the song playing at the end the epi was good I found out its "Wheels" by Fink.


	42. One Scary SOB

**Disclaimer: NCIS is the property of others. It does not belong to me. I do this strictly for entertainment. No profit is being made.**

**Authors Note: **Happy New Year and a belated Merry Christmas. I started writing this story a while ago, but then the writers killed off Mike so I lost interest. Then I moved on to other characters. I was bored last week in work, so I was looking thru my idea book, and two pages of this story fell out. "Faking It" is one of my favorite Mike stories so you could consider this a foreshadowing of what's to come. It starts after the chapter **"No Conscience"**.

**Spoilers: **"Faking It". I also make mention of the chapter "No Conscience" and the chapter "One Good Turn Deserves Another" in 'Observing".

**WARNING: **No f-bombs, but your delicate shell-like ears may be offended by some approaching language.

**Los Angeles CA** **Saturday October 12, 1991 1235hrs.**

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks was waiting. The guy he was supposed to meet Doyle McClure was a very cautious man. Doyle was an 'associate' of the LA Mafia family of Peter 'Pretty Boy' Miliano. An associate was an individual who worked and earned for the family but was not a full member of the Mafia. If anyone saw McClure meeting with a Fed, he'd wind up in a car trunk with a bullet in his head. So Mike sat smoking and waiting. The strip mall parking lot McClure picked was busy, the supermarket that anchored it was pretty big. McClure would blend right in. Mike lit another cigarette and his mind drifted back to last night and his encounter with 'Slim' Douglas.

_Still can't believe she cuffed me to her bed._

Mike shook his head.

_C'mon Mikey, get your mind back on the job._

Mike figured McClure was somewhere watching, making sure Mike hadn't been spotted. Movement in the rearview mirror attracted Mike's attention. Mike got a quick glimpse of McClure and then the passenger door opened and the man slide into the car.

"Hello Doyle."

"Mr. Franks. What's happenin'?"

Doyle McClure was in his forties, about 5'8" and stocky. He was a career crook who was looking at a nice chunk of jail time if he fell for the hijacking and possession of stolen property rap he was looking at.

"I don't know Doyle, why don't ya tell me."

McClure half turned in his seat, facing Mike.

"Well, it's like this. I got this thing comin' up. It's all a misunderstanding really. A guy I know in Vegas asked me to drive this truck to LA. He'd a done himself but his old lady was sick or somethin'. Anyway just over the state line on I-15 in Cali, the Chippies stop me for 'excessive exhaust' or some bullshit. Ask to see my manifest, which I haven't got. Turns out the load was _stolen. _Hey, I didn't know, I was just doin' a favor for a friend."

Mike rolled his eyes.

"Riiiight. So why me Doyle? Is it because you shopped this story around and got no takers? Don't lie, 'cause after you called me, I checked around."

McClure shrugged.

"Yeah, I asked around some. Nobody was interested."

Mike sighed. This matched up with what he'd heard.

"So, whatta ya got?"

Doyle cracked his knuckles.

"There's this guy, he's a Russian, thirties, mustache. He's into guns. Small arms ya know? Assault rifles, rocket launchers, pistols, that kinda shit. Anyway he's looking for a military connection in San Diego or Camp Pendleton. He's done some work for the family and we're tryin' to help him out."

Mike nodded.

"So you're supposed to find him a connection?"

"Uh-huh. We hook him up, he deals, and we get a taste. It's perfect. I work him for you, _you_, go to the AUSA tellin' him how I'm workin' for the good guys now. He goes to the judge and puts a word in."

"And you're not worried about how the family's gonna react to you snitchin' this guy off?"

"Nah, he's an outsider. If in the process I can rip him off, I'm earnin', so it'll be cool."

Mike drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, thinking.

"Lemme look at this some. Call me tomorrow and I'll let you know what's what."

"Okay Mr. Franks."

McClure started to get out of the car when Mike caught him by the arm.

"What's this Russian guy's name?"

"Arkady Kobach."

On the trip back to Pendleton, Mike smoked several cigarettes and mulled over how he would go about putting the Russian behind bars. He had a name and a half- assed description. He'd need more. On a normal work day he'd have access to the NCIC (National Crime Information Center) terminal. But today was Saturday. The agent that normally operated the terminal didn't work Saturday. He c_ould_ go to the Provost Marshals Office. They operated their terminal 24/7. But he hated owing those people anything. Plus he had a feeling he should play this close to his vest.

_Monday is soon enough._

Mike finally got to his apartment. He dragged himself out of his car and up to his place. Between last night's fun and games and driving back and forth to LA, he was beat.

_Recliner, college football, beer._

As he unlocked his door and pushed it open, the familiar scent of Mexican food invaded his nostrils. Elena came out of the kitchen smiling.

"Hola' bebe'."

_Oh boy._

The following Monday at approximately 1135 hrs, a soft 'ding' came from a computer in a windowless room in the basement of a government building in rural Virginia. The duty officer swung his chair around to face the terminal. He'd been reading about the pounding the Redskins laid on the Browns the previous day. Looking at the screen he noted the codename. Swinging back around to his desk, he pulled a loose leaf binder off a shelf and opened it. Flipping several pages he found the correct entry and dialed an extension. It rang twice.

"_6160"_

"Sir, someone just pinged 'Flintlock's' D/L and CCH (Computerized Criminal History)."

"_What agency?"_

"NIS."

A sigh came from the other end of the line.

"_Goddamn cowboys. Great. Thank you."_

In his sixth floor office, CIA case officer Roy Carver softly replaced the receiver in the phone's cradle. Carver swung his chair around contemplating the view of the rear parking lot. He was already figuring how to work this new development into his current case.

**NIS Field Office, Camp Pendleton CA, Monday November 18, 1991 0908hrs.**

With a great sense of satisfaction Special Agent Mike Franks signed his name to the last of the paperwork that would send Arkady Kobach to Federal prison for a long time. A month ago Franks decided a sting would be the perfect way to nail Kobach. With the help of the San Diego office and a gutty PO2 named Jack T Vance, Mike got Kobach on video and audio taking delivery of fifty M16 rifles. Lighting a cigarette he allowed himself a few moments of self congratulation.

"Agent Franks? The SAC wants to see you."

Mike turned his head slowly. Agent Cody Jarrett stood at the corner of Mike's desk smirking.

_One of these days I'm gonna bitch slap that kid._

"Thank you so much Agent Jarrett. I'll get right down there."

Franks stood and gathered his paperwork. He'd needed to see Harold 'Iron Ass' Applegate anyway. Walking down the corridor he wondered what was up. Reaching his boss's office he pushed on in thru the closed door. Seeing a stranger standing in the office, Mike modified his greeting.

"You wanted to see me sir?"

"Yes Agent Franks. Close the door."

Mike did so and moved further into the office, eyeing the visitor. Thirties, short dark hair, in good shape. He had a small smile on his face. In contrast, Harold's face was neutral.

_I'm not getting a good vibe here._

Applegate held out a hand.

"Is that the Kobach file?"

"Uh-huh."

His boss waggled his fingers and Franks handed him the file. The SAC placed it on his desk and gestured to the visitor.

"This is Roy Carver from Washington."

Carver stepped forward holding out his hand.

"Pleasure to meet you Agent Franks. That was a nice piece of work you pulled off."

Mike shook the man's hand.

"Thanks."

Down in Central and South America, Franks worked with intelligence types from all over.

_An' if this guy wasn't one, I'll French kiss 'Ferret Face' Jarrett._

Applegate cleared his throat.

"Mike, Mr. Carver here has something he needs to tell us."

_Oh boy._

"Gentlemen, Arkady Kobach is an important intelligence asset. We feel he's going to enable us to get inside arms smuggling in the Middle East and South West Asia. We've been running him for a couple of years and he is on the verge of becoming a major player."

From Carver's first words Mike knew what was coming. He also knew he wouldn't be able to stop it.

_Goddamn spooks and their goddamn games._

"Harold…"

Applegate looked chagrined.

"Sorry Mike..."  
That was the last straw. Franks erupted.

"Sorry my ass. C'mon Harold. You saw the report from NYPD's OCCB (Organized Crime Control Bureau). This mutt made his rep with the _Izmaylovskaya _gang outta Brighton Beach. He's a stone killer. Hell, NYPD thinks he killed a witness to get out from under his last indictment before he skipped for here."

Carver raised a hand.

"No need to worry Agent Franks. Kobach is going to be leaving the country to further establish himself. Your witnesses will be perfectly safe."

Mike snorted.

"Listen Carver, if that's really your name, I've dealt with spook shit before. Your promises ain't worth the air it takes ya to make 'em."

Carver smiled sardonically.

"What're you going to do Agent Franks? Shoot me?"

Mike took a step.

"At ease Mike!"

Franks looked at his boss and then back to Carver.

"You heard about that huh? Well, if you ever run into that son of a bitch Faust, you can tell him I still regret not droppin' the hammer on him."

Carver gave Mike another smile.

"I'm sure he stays awake nights worrying about that. May I have the file Agent Applegate?"

The SAC sighed and handed over the paperwork.

"Thank you. Good day gentlemen."

Carver exited the office closing the door softly. Mike turned to his boss.

"Goddamnit Harold…"

Applegate raised a hand.

"I got two messages this morning over the secure telex. One from the Director and one from SecNav. It's a done deal."

"Shit."

"Affirmative."

Mike shook his head.

"All that work…"

"Forget it Mike. It's done. Walk away."

Mike's eyes bored into his boss's.

"We haven't heard the last of that guy. But that's okay, 'cause if it's the last thing I ever do, I'm gonna get him."

**A/N: **And he did.


	43. The Who Do Man

**DISCLAIMER: NCIS belongs to DPB not to me. Never has, never will.**

**Authors Note: **I've had the worst case of writers block. To try to ameliorate that, I went back to my two long running stories, "El Viejo" and "You Can See A Lot Just By Observing" and read over the chapters. This story is what I came up with. In Chapter 12 of "Observing" I created an OC who works for the CIA and had a run in with Mike Franks. I hate to tell people to go back and read a chapter before reading a current chapter, but _this _story will make more sense if you do. The title of this chapter comes from a Robert Earl Keen song I was listening to when I wrote it. I thought it sounded like Mike. Thanks REK and please don't sue me. Hope you guys like it.

**WARNING!- **There is profanity ahead. After all, it is the _Naval _Investigative Service. We all know how Marines and Sailors are, don't we?

**Miami International Airport, Thursday May 8, 1986 1405hrs.**

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks sat in the airport bar smoking and sipping on a Jameson glumly contemplating life its ownself. Seventy two hours ago he'd been in Cartagena Colombia waging war on the drug cartels. Now he was on the way to Washington DC and NIS's HQ at the Navy Yard.

_Where I'll probably get the ass chewing of a lifetime followed by being fired._

Mike was assigned to an inter-agency taskforce whose job it was to help the Colombian government dismantle the Medellin Cartel. Everybody was involved, DEA, FBI, CIA, and a bunch of Special Operations types from all branches of the military. It was a CIA operator who was responsible for Franks' current predicament.

_Goddamn spooks._

Jerry Faust was a member of CIA's Special Activities Division. Using his knowledge of the taskforce's Confidential Informants, he'd had one of _his _informants burn one of Mike's to move himself up the food chain of the cartel. Mike's face tightened as he remembered the confrontation at the weekly taskforce staff meeting.

"_What the hell Faust!"_

_The man leaned back in his chair sipping a Perrier. He neither smoked nor drank. _

"_Oh come on Franks. Your guy hasn't given us any actionable intelligence in months. At least _my_ guy'll now have access to shipment schedules."_

_Mike stood suddenly knocking over his chair. He leaned forward on his hands, looking at Faust._

"_You got him killed!"_

_Faust looked at Franks blandly._

"_C'est la guerre. One less drug dealer."_

_The Colombian National Police got a tip that Mike's guy had been murdered. After going over the scene, they'd found Mike's name and called him down. It was one of the most gruesome crime scenes the NIS agent ever saw. As was their custom, the cartel killers not only eliminated the informer but his wife and two kids as well. In the most hideous way possible of course. Mike's face got deathly still._

"_What about his wife and kids?"_

_Faust shrugged._

"_Collateral damage."_

That tears it!

_Mike's Cot Python appeared as if by magic and he thumbed back the hammer. The room exploded into chaos. Franks heard none of it. The world narrowed down to him and Faust. The CIA operator looked back at Mike expressionless._

One and a half pounds of pressure and the world will be a better place.

_The room was now silent except for the FBI agent that was in charge of the meeting. He was threatening all sorts of dire consequences unless Mike put up his weapon. Then there was a soft voice from Franks' left. It was the other NIS agent on the taskforce, Jimmy Hamilton._

"_C'mon Mikey, put the snake away. Is this turd really worth life in Leavenworth?"_

_Mike contemplated, took a deep cleansing breath and carefully let the hammer of the Colt down. It disappeared just as quickly as it appeared._

Franks was hustled from the room and now here he was in Miami. Mike drained his glass. The bartender came over and raised an eyebrow. Mike nudged the glass.

"I'll sail again."

Twenty minutes later his flight to DC was called.

**Dulles International Airport, 1651hrs.**

As Mike Franks came out of the jet way he spotted his welcoming committee. Medium height, Brooks Brothers suit, very STRAC (**S**trategic, **T**ough, **R**eady **A**round the **C**lock). Franks on the other hand was still dressed for Cartagena in a white rumpled suit. The man walked up to him.

"Special Agent Franks?"

"That'd be me."

A quick flash of credentials.

"I'm Special Agent Jonas Crenshaw. I've got a car outside. Do you have any checked bags?"

"Just one."

Agent Crenshaw gestured and they walked side by side towards the baggage claim area.

"Agent Franks, you're checked into the Navy Lodge and you have a 10 am appointment with the Director."

_Oh goody._

"You're not to leave the Lodge under any circumstances until your appointment tomorrow morning."

Mike turned his head slowly around and locked eyes with the younger agent.

"And how exactly are you gonna make sure of that Junior?"

Jonas Crenshaw gave a slight smile.

"The Director said you'd say that. Quote, Tell Franks that for once in his life I expect him to follow an order, Unquote."

Mike sighed and shrugged.

"Well, since he put it like _that_, we're gonna have to stop on the way for a bottle. I'm not sittin' in that little beige box without some company."

After collecting Mike's battered B-4 bag, they did indeed stop at a liquor store for a bottle of Jameson. It was the only company Mike had all evening.

**NIS Director's office, Friday May 9, 1986 0945hrs.**

NIS Special Agent Mike Franks sat chain smoking in the Director's outer office. He was hung over. Last night, true to his word, he stayed in his room with just the TV and bottle of Jameson for company. He had the proverbial 'one too many' and went to bed knowing he'd be hung over in the morning. Upon awakening he'd showered, shaved (carefully) and dressed in his black suit, white shirt and black tie. Then he had breakfast, a cup of black coffee and a cigarette. It was a short walk from the Lodge to the Navy Yard, so Mike was early. Franks was smoking when he walked into the outer office and the Director's PA pitched a bitch. Mike being hung over and in no mood decided to really piss the guy off. He started chain smoking. The phone on the PA's desk finally beeped. He picked it up.

"Yes, he's here. Very good sir."

"The Director will see you now Agent Franks."

_And I hope he fires your sorry ass._

Mike got to his feet, dropping the butt he was smoking into his partially finished container of coffee. Passing the PA's desk, he carefully placed it on the center of the man's blotter.

"Thanks _Jeremy_. Take care of this for me willya?"

Not bothering to see the reaction of the PA, Mike opened the door to the Director's office, passed thru and shut the door. He stopped two feet short of the man's desk and came to a semblance of attention, keeping his eyes about a foot over the Director's head. The Director was reading a file. After several minutes he closed the file and looked up at Franks over the tops of his reading glasses.

"You're not in the Corps anymore Franks, have a seat."

"I'd prefer to take this standing sir."

The Director sighed heavily and took off his reading glasses, laying them gently on his desk.

"Sit down Mike."

He pushed an ashtray towards Franks.

"The smoking lamp is lit."

Mike sighed in turn and sat in the Director's 'visitor's' chair. He made no move towards his smokes. The Director grunted.

"Okay. You're not a very popular guy today Agent Franks. The Director of Central Intelligence would like to see you hanging from the yardarm of the _Barry_, your supervisor in Cartagena thinks you're a psycho, and SecNav thinks your next duty assignment should be the gooney bird census on Midway."

The Director's gunmetal grey eyes bored into Mike's.

"What do you think Agent Franks?"

Mike took a deep breath. His head hurt and his stomach burned from just having coffee for breakfast.

"I think I fucked up big time and I'm probably gonna get fired."

The Director barked out a short laugh.

"That's the smartest thing you've said or done since this whole mess started."

The Director leaned back in his chair.

"Well, you did fuck up, but I'm not going to fire you."

Franks could not keep the look of relief from washing across his face. The Director chuckled.

_He really figured I was going to can him._

"Listen Mike, you've done great work for this agency down there in Central and South America. There are several reasons I'm not going along with all the people who'd like me to nail your hide to the barn door. One, I saw the crime scene photos. Agent Hamilton sent them here by special courier. They hit my desk the same time I got the formal complaint from CIA. Two, from the statements of others in the room, Faust was clearly trying to provoke you. Third and lastly, I don't like other people telling _me _how to discipline _my_ people."

The Director leaned forward fixing Mike again with his eyes.

"That being said, you are not going to get off scot-free. I'm putting a disciplinary letter in your file that will make it clear to any supervisor you have in the future that you are to be kept on a v_ery_ short leash. It will also pretty much keep you from advancing beyond Senior Field Agent. Now as to your next assignment. I'm sending you back to the San Diego office. Behave yourself and when a slot opens up at Camp Pendleton, I'll move you. Any questions?"

"No sir."

"Any objections to the disciplinary actions I've taken? You're entitled to have union representation if you desire and a hearing."

Not being a 'sea lawyer' and knowing that he truly screwed the pooch, Mike shook his head.

"I have no objections to my punishment Sir."

The Director nodded.

"Good. We're done then. Haul your butt down to Transportation; they've got your tickets to Dago. Anything need to come home from Colombia?"

"Just three footlockers sir. I left 'em with Agent Hamilton."

"I'll see that they're forwarded to San Diego."

Mike stood.

"Thank you sir. Is that all sir?"

The Director smiled.

"I think that's enough for a career. Go on, get outta here."

"Yes Sir."

Mike's hand was on the doorknob when the Director's voice stopped him.

"Franks."

"Sir?"

"Don't ever do that again."

"Aye Aye Sir."

Mike walked out of the office closing the door softly. He walked past the PA without looking at him. He did not go to Transportation. He took the elevator to the ground floor and turned in his visitor's badge. He walked out the front entrance and winced slightly at the bright sunlight. Mike reached into the breast pocket of his suit coat for his Wayfarers and slipped them on.

_That's better. Charlie's should be open by now. A little of the hair of the dog and some breakfast is indicated. God takes care of drunks and fools, which I am both._

Mike Franks started whistling the Marine Corps Hymn as he headed down Sicard St. towards the Main Gate.

**A/N: **Anybody catch the Dan Jenkins reference in the first paragraph? I was reading one of his books while I was writing this. Like REK, I hope he doesn't sue me. The USS Barry is a museum ship moored at the Navy Yard. Since it's been a while how about a _bunch _of welcome back reviews?


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